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B8SB  LIBRARY 


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I 


MRS.   L.   H.    SIGOURNEY 


"  Ah !  wherefore  sigh  for  what  is  gone  ? 

Or  deem  the  future  all  a  night? 
From  darkness  through  the  rosy  dawn, 

The  stars  go  singing  into  light: 
And  to  the  pilgrim  lone  and  gray, 

One  thought  shall  come  to  cheer  his  breast, 
The  evening  sun  but  fades  away 

To  find  new  morning  in  the  west." 

T.  B.  BEAD. 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.,   200  BROADWAY. 


J.  P.  JEWETT  &  CO.,  117  WASHINGTON   STREET, 

M.DCCC.LIV. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 

FRANCIS  T.  RUSSELL, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


PRINTED  BY  CASE,  TIFFANY  AND   CO.,  HARTFORD,   CT. 


A.OE. 


IT  is  not  considered  polite  to  ask  people  their 
age,  after  the  bloom  of  youth  has  departed.  I 
would  not  willingly  violate  the  rules  of  decorum, 
or  tempt  any  one  to  hide  the  foot-prints  of  Time 
as  the  Indian  warrior  covers  his  track  with  leaves. 
So,  making  no  invidious  inquiry,  let  me  simply 
whisper  in  the  ear  of  those  who  have  achieved 
more  than  half  life's  journey,  that  this  book  is  for 
them.  It  is  their  own  exclusive  property.  It  is 
devoted  heart  and  hand  to  their  interests.  Who 
ever  is  found  reading  it,  may  be  suspected  to  have 
attained  the  same  ripe  age. 

It  is,  therefore,  a  kind  of  confidential  matter 
between  me  and  my  compeers — we,  whose  faces 
are  toward  the  setting  sun.  To  all  such,  I  offer 
the  right  hand  of  fellowship.  There  are  sympa- 


IV  PREFACE. 

thies  between  us.  We  are  in  the  same  category — 
a  joint  stock  concern  that  admits  no  young  part 
ners.  Every  camp  has  its  watchword.  Every 
state  its  history.  Every  profession  its  policy. 
And  have  not  we  ours  ?  Aye,  and  our  rights  too  ? 
And  shall  we  not  stand  for  them  ?  Come,  let  us 
see.  L.  H.  S. 

HARTFORD,    CONN., 
Sept.  1st,  1854. 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE, 3 

THE  A.  M's  AND  THE  P.  M's, 9 

OLD, 19 

REPORTERS, 31 

THE  CUSTODY  OF  KNOWLEDGE, 39 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  AGE, 52 

AIR, 67 

DOMESTIC  ANNIVERSARIES, 84 

PATRIOTIC  RECOLLECTIONS, ' .  101 

ACCOMPLISHMENTS, 115 

PRIVILEGES  OF  AGE, 130 

LITERARY  LONGEVITY, 145 

WESTERING  SUNBEAMS, 172 

ABOUT  MONEY, 195 

THE  AMENITIES, 213 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  WINTER, 223 

A  NEW  EXISTENCE, .     .  229 


CHAPTER    I. 


C|e  &.  ft.'s  aitir  %  f  . 


"  AH  !  what  concerns  it  him  whose  way 

Lies  upward  to  the  immortal  dead, 
That  a  few  hairs  are  turning  gray  ? 

Or  one  more  year  of  life  hath  fled  ? 
Swift  years  !  still  teach  us  how  to  bear, 

To  feel,  to  act,  with  strength  and  skill, 
To  reason  wisely,  nobly  dare, 

Then  speed  your  courses  as  ye  will. 
When  life's  meridian  toils  are  done, 

How  calm,  how  rich  the  twilight  glow, 
The  morning  twilight  of  a  sun 

That  shines  not  here,  on  things  below." 

PROFESSOR  NORTON. 

THE  equinoctial  of  human  life,  though 
vaguely  denned,  is  not  an  imaginary  line. 
Arithmetically  speaking,  thirty-five,  as  predi 
cated  on  the  allotted  span  of  seventy  years, 

is  the  true  zenith.     Yet  life's  latitude  can  not 
2 


10  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

always  be  computed  with  such  exactness. 
Of  Cuvier,  it  was  said  at  sixty,  that  he  was 
but  in  the  climax  of  his  scientific  powers ;  and 
Klopstock,  at  eighty,  bore  the  epithet  of  "  the 
youth  forever." 

These  instances  are,  indeed,  but  exceptions, 
and  it  will  be,  doubtless,  admitted  that  the 
meridian  of  life  is  fully  passed  at  fifty.  It 
would  be  an  exceedingly  liberal  construction 
to  extend  to  sixty,  the  dividing  line  between 
the  ante  and  the  post  meridian  people. 
Though  the  boundary  may  slightly  vary,  yet 
the  characteristics  and  possessions  of  those 
on  each  side  of  this  debateable  ground  are 
sufficiently  distinct. 

With  the  A.  M.'s,  are  the  beauty  and  the 
vigor,  and  the  ambition  of  this  present  wrorld. 
Of  these  distinctions  they  are  aware  and 
tenacious. 

Yet,  the  P.  M.'s  are  not  utterly  cyphers. 
This,  I  trust,  in  due  time  to  show.  If  with 
them,  there  is  a  less  inflated  hope,  there 
should  be  a  more  rational  happiness;  for  they 


THE     A.    M.'S     AND     THK     P.     M.'s.  11 

have  winnowed  the  chaff  from  the  wheat, 
and  tested  both  wrhat  is  worth  pursuing,  and 
worth  possessing. 

Is  there  any  antagonism  between  these 
parties?  Is  one  disposed  to  monopolize,  and 
the  other  to  consider  itself  depreciated  ? 
Does  one  complain  that 

"  Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage  ?  " 

and  the  other  morosely  withdraw  from  the 
battle  of  life,  and  its  reciprocities  ?  We  will 
not  admit  any  just  ground  for  such  estrange 
ment.  Rather  are  they  differing  tenses  of 
the  same  verb,  the  verb  "to  love"  whose 
root  is  in  the  blessed  principle  that  binds  the 
universe  together.  Children  are  they  of  the 
morning  and  of  the  evening,  living  on  the 
bounty  of  one  common  Father,  and  lighted 
by  the  beams  of  the  same  rising  and  setting 
sun,  to  His  home  in  Heaven. 

The  duties  that  devolve  on  the  P.  M.'s  are 
not  often  as  clearly  evident,  or  as  strongly 
enforced  as  those  which  appertain  to  their 
predecessors.  One,  comprise  the  planting. 


12  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

the  other  the  ripening  process.  In  agricul 
ture,  the  necessity  of  preparing  the  soil,  and 
sowing  right  seed,  is  apparent  and  imperative. 
The  requisitions  to  remove  weeds,  and  destroy 
noxious  insects,  are  equally  obvious.  But 
when  the  objects  of  culture  approach  their 
final  maturity,  vigilance  declines.  Still,  the 
careful  gardener  will  give  the  perfecting  peach 
the  shelter  of  a  wall,  or  the  clustering  grape 
a  prop,  that  it  may  better  meet  the  sunbeam. 
The  laborer  knows  that  the  golden  sheaf 
needs  the  vertic  sun,  and  the  boy  seeks  not 
his  nuts  in  the  forest,  till  the  frost  opens  their 
sheath. 

So,  in  this  our  mortal  life,  though  the  toils 
that  fit  for  action,  are  more  obvious  and  press 
ing,  yet  the  responsibilities  of  its  period  of 
repose,  should  be  often  and  distinctly  contem 
plated.  For  that  richest  fruit  of  the  Creator, 
the  soul  of  man,  that  which  survives,  when 
all  other  works  of  creation  perish,  goes  on 
ripening  and  ripening  as  long  as  it  hangs  in 
this  garden  of  time,  and  needs  both  earthly 


THE     A.     M.'S     AND     THE     P.     M.'s.  13 

and  divine  aid  to  bring  it  happily  to  the  eter 
nal  garner. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  ethics  of  age  have 
been  less  elaborately  stated  than  those  of 
youth  or  maturity.  Still,  the  most  perfect 
philosophy,  the  most  sublime  precepts,  must 
fail,  without  the  example  of  a  good  life.  The 
morality  of  Socrates  and  Seneca,  was  beauti 
ful,  but  their  times  furnished  no  illustrations. 
The  code  of  Confucius  was  fine,  but  lacked 
vitality.  How  much  more  impressive  is  the 
theory  of  Addison,  he  who  was  enabled  to  say 
at  last,  "  Come,  see  in  what  peace  a  Christian 
can  die." 

"  I  know  of  but  one  way  of  fortifying  the  mind  against 
gloomy  presages  and  terrors,  and  that  is,  by  securing  the 
friendship  of  that  Being  who  disposes  of  all  events,  and 
governs  futurity.  He  sees  at  one  view,  the  whole  thread 
of  my  existence,  not  only  that  part  of  it  which  I  have 
already  passed  through,  but  that  which  runs  forward  into 
the  depths  of  eternity.  When  I  lie  down  to  sleep,  I 
recommend  myself  to  His  care ;  when  I  awake  I  give  my 
self  up  to  His  direction.  Amidst  all  the  evils  that  threat 
en  me,  I  will  look  up  to  Him  for  help,  and  question  not 
2* 


14  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

but  He  will  avert  them,  or  turn  them  to  my  advantage. 
Though  I  know  neither  the  time,  nor  the  manner  of  the 
death  that  I  am  to  die,  I  am  not  at  all  solicitous  about  it, 
because  I  am  sure  that  He  knows  them  both,  and  that  He 
will  not  fail  to  support  and  comfort  me  under  them." 

A  serenity  thus  founded  and  sustained,  pro 
motes  the  ripening  of  the  soul's  best  fruits. 
Earthly  perturbations  check  their  full  devel 
opment,  and  may  cause  them  to  fall  before 
their  time.  To  pass  through  God's  world, 
unreconciled,  or  in  hostility  to  Him,  is  fearful 
arrogance.  To  estrange  from  His  service  the 
powers  that  He  has  given,  or  the  affections 
that  He  claims,  is  treason  heightened  by  in 
gratitude. 

If  this  has  been  the  case  with  any  of  us,  let 
us  lay  aside  the  weapons  of  our  warfare. 
When  we  first  entered  this  pilgrimage,  many 
paths  allured  us,  each  bright  with  flowers, 
and  birds  of  hope.  Some  we  followed,  till  the 
flowers  faded,  and  the  song  ceased.  Others 
we  entered,  and  hastily  retraced,  finding  only 
thorns  and  pitfalls.  Now,  approaching  the 


THE     A.     M.'S     AND     THE     P.     M.'s.  15 

close  of  our  probation,  a  single  road  strongly 
solicits  us,  one  prominent  object  concentrates 
our  desires,  a  happy  entrance  into  the  "house 
not  made  with  hands ! " 

All  along  the  way  there  is  happiness  for 
those  whose  hearts  are  in  unison  with  the 
Divine  will.  With  a  prayer  of  penitence  for 
the  erring  past, — with  a  hymn  of  faith  for  the 
joyous  future,  they  pass  onward,  their  Christian 
graces  ripening  day  by  day,  under  the  "clear 
shining  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness."  Thus 
may  it  be  with  us,  until  the  last,  bright  drop 
of  this  brief  existence  shall  be  exhaled. 

Those  who  have  completed  half  a  century, 
if  not  literally  numbered  among  the  aged, 
have  yet  reached  a  period  of  great  gravity 
and  importance.  They  should  have  gained 
an  ascent  which  discloses  much  of  earth's 
vanity.  They  have  past  life's  meridian,  and 
journey  henceforth  toward  the  gates  of  the 
west.  Those  who  like  tutelary  spirits  pre 
sided  over  their  earliest  years,  and  rejoiced 
in  their  blossoming  promise,  have  long  since 


16  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

ceased  their  ministrations,  or  departed  to  their 
reward.  For  the  responsibilities  that  remain, 
they  must  gird  themselves,  and  help  to  gird 
others.  To  a  future  generation  they  should 
pay  the  debt  which  they  have  incurred  from 
the  past. 

Time  has  also  to  them,  a  heightened  and 
an  increasing  value.  For  should  they  reach 
threescore  and  ten,  which  it  is  computed  that 
only  five  in  one  hundred  of  our  race  attain,  or 
even  far  surmount  the  prescribed  date  of  man, 
every  year  is  said  to  gather  fleetness  as  it  ap 
proaches  its  goal.  The  rapidity  of  the  tide 
of  time  has  been  well  depicted  by  one  of 
our  own  eloquent  lecturers,  the  Rev.  Henry 
Giles. 

"There  is  no  Gibeon  in  life,  upon  which  we  can  rest 
for  a  moment,  the  morning  or  the  noontide ;  there  is  no 
Ajalon  in  our  age,  whereon  we  can  force  the  moonlight  to 
repose  beyond  its  appointed  hour.  We  cannot  rekindle 
the  morning  beams  of  childhood ;  we  cannot  recall  the 
noontide  glory  of  youth ;  we  cannot  bring  back  the  perfect 
day  of  maturity ;  we  cannot  fix  the  evening  rays  of  age,  in 
the  shadowy  horizon ;  but  we  can  cherish  that  goodness 


THE     A.     M.'s     AND     THE     P.     M.'s.  17 

which  is  the  sweetness  of  childhood,  the  joy  of  youth,  the 
strength  of  maturity,  the  honor  of  old  age,  and  the  bliss 
of  saints." 

The  aids  of  philosophy  to  promote  the  com 
fort  and  dignity  of  advancing  age  have  been 
often  given,  in  the  form  of  beautiful  rules,  or 
striking  aphorisms.  Yet  these  will  be  found 
frail,  or  rootless,  unless  the  soul  is  at  peace 
with  itself  and  with  its  Maker. 

It  may  be,  that  God's  gift  of  life  in  its  more 
protracted  periods,  is  by  certain  classes  of 
observers,  undervalued,  or  vilified.  Should 
it  be  our  lot  to  reach  any  of  those  periods, 
may  we  do  justice  to  the  Giver's  goodness. 
May  we  so  co-operate  with  all  heavenly 
influences,  so  conform  our  conduct  to  the 
precepts  of  the  Gospel,  so  trust  in  our  Re 
deemer,  that 

"  What  is  dark 

In  us,  He  may  illumine ;  what  is  weak, 
Raise  and  support." 

Thus,  striving  to  prove  that  age,  though 
deemed  so  unlovely,  can  be  happy  and  holy, 


18  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

may  we  find  the  last  note  of  its  hymn  sweet 
ly  harmonizing  with  the  angels'  welcome, 
"  Come  up  hither ! " 


CHAPTER   II. 


"-My  Mariners ! 

Souls  that  have  toil'd  and  wrought  and  felt  with  me, 
That  ever  with  a  simple  welcome  took 
The  thunder  or  the  sunshine,  and  oppos'd 
Free  hearts,  free  foreheads,  you  and  I  are  old : 
Yet  age  hath  still  his  honor  and  his  joy." 

TENSTYSOX. 

OLD!  Can  you  remember  how  you  felt, 
when  that  adjective  was  first  coupled  with 
your  name  ?  Perhaps  your  milliner  in  fitting 
a  new  hat,  chanced  to  remark,  that  was  a 
"becoming  fashion  for  an  old  lady ;  "  or  some 
coachman,  by  way  of  recommending  his  car 
riage,  might  have  added,  it  was  remarkably 
easy  for  an  "  old  gentleman  to  get  in  and  out 
of." 

Old,  indeed!  How  officious  and  rude,  these 


20 


PAST    MERIDIAN. 


common  people  are !  Whereupon,  you  have 
consulted  your  mirror,  and  been  still  more 
indignant  at  their  stupidity. 

But  you  may  have  been  more  gently  helped 
along  to  this  conclusion,  by  the  circumstance 
of  paternity.  Old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  set  in  oppo 
sition  with  young  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  lose  much  of 
their  discordance,  and  become  familiar  house 
hold  words.  The  satisfaction  of  hearing  your 
eldest  darling  thus  distinguished,  has  softened 
the  bitterness  of  your  own  unflattering  cog 
nomen.  Possibly,  you  have  been  moved 
magnanimously  to  exclaim,  with  the  senten 
tious  Ossian,  "Let  the  name  of  Morni  be  for 
gotten  among  the  people,  if  they  will  only 
say,  behold  the  father  of  Gaul." 

Still,  it  is  hard  to  have  a  quietus  suddenly 
put  upon  long-cherished  hopes  and  vanities. 
"The  baby  shall  not  be  named  after  me," 
said  a  young  parent  of  his  first-born,  "  for  it 
wilf  be  old  John  and  young  John,  while  I  am 
yet  in  my  prime."  "  I  wish  my  son  had  not 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  marry  so  early,"  said 


OLD.  21 

a  lady  in  a  remarkably  fine  state  of  preserva 
tion;  "for  now,  I  suppose,  it  must  be  old 
Madam,  and  young  Madam."  The  unmar 
ried,  whose  recollections  can  bisect  a  century, 
are  prone  to  be  annoyed  at  the  disposition  to 
pry  into  dates,  and  are  sure  that  no  well-bred 
person  wrould  be  guilty  of  such  absurd  curi 
osity. 

Yet,  to  cover  the  tracks  of  time,  and  put 
family  records  out  of  the  way,  are  of  little 
avail.  There  will  be  here  and  there,  a  mem 
ory  stubbornly  tenacious  of  chronological  mat 
ters,  and  whoever  labors  to  conceal  his  proper 
date,  will  usually  find  some  Argus  to  watch 
over  and  reveal  it. 

But,  after  all !  what  is  there  so  frightful  in 
this  little  Saxon  word  old  ?  This  collocation 
of  three  innocent  letters,  why  do  they  thrill 
the  hearts  of  so  many  fair  women  and  brave 
men,  with  terror  and  aversion  ? 

Is  everything  that  is  old  deteriorated  ? 
What  do  you  think  of  old  wine  ?  We  can 
not,  indeed,  say  quite  as  much  about  that,  in 


22  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

these  temperance  times,  as  Anacreon  did. 
But  I've  always  understood,  when  physicians 
recommended  its  tonic  or  restorative  powers 
in  medicine,  it  was  the  old,  and  not  the  new. 
Ask  the  epicure  to  partake  of  new  cheese. 
Saith  he  not,  "No:  the  old  is  better."  Does 
any  one  question  the  correctness  of  his  taste  ? 
What  do  you  say  of  an  old  friend,  that  best 
cordial  of  life  ?  Blessings  on  his  smile,  and 
on  the  hearty  grasp  of  his  hand.  What  if  he 
does  come,  leaning  on  his  staff?  There  is  no 
winter  in  his  heart.  He  was  brought  up  in 
times  when  friendship  was  more  than  a  name. 

"  The  vine  produces  more  grapes  when  it 
is  young,"  says  Bacon,  "  but  better  grapes  for 
wine,  when  it  is  old,  because  its  juices  are 
more  perfectly  concocted."  Very  true,  no 
doubt.  A  wise  man,  was  my  Lord  Bacon. 
We  see  everything  is  not  worse  for  being 
old. 

Is  it  worth  while  to  be  so  much  shocked  at 
the  circumstance  of  becoming  old  ?  Is  it  a 
mark  of  excommunication  from  our  race? 


OLD.  23 

On  the  contrary,  we  have  a  chance  of  finding 
some  very  good  company. 

So  then,  we  to  whom  thrice  twenty  years, 
each  with  its  four  full  seasons,  fairly  counted 
out,  pressed  together,  and  running  over,  have 
been  given,  will  no  longer  resist  the  epithet, 
old.  "  To  this  complexion  we  have  come  at 
last."  We  will  not  be  ashamed  of  it.  It  is 
better  to  be  old,  than  to  be  wicked. 

Let  us  draw  nearer  together.  I  hold  that 
we  are  not  a  despisable  body.  Similarity  of 
position,  gives  community  of  interest.  Have 
we  not  something  to  say,  that  others  need  not 
hear  ?  We'll  say  it  in  this  book. 

And  first,  I  would  whisper  a  proposition, 
that  we  depend  not  too  much  on  sympathy 
from  the  young.  Those  who  earnestly  de 
mand  that  commodity,  having  outlived  their 
early  associates,  will  stand  a  chance  of  being 
numbered  among  the  repiners  of  old,  "sitting 
in  the  market-place,  and  calling  unto  their 
fellows,  we  have  piped  unto  you,  and  ye  have 


24  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

not  danced,  we  have  mourned  unto  you  and 
ye  have  not  lamented." 

Secondly,  let  us  search  after  bright  things, 
in  the  world,  and  among  its  people.  "Every 
year  of  my  life,"  says  Cecil,  "  I  grow  more 
convinced  that  it  is  wisest  and  best  to  fix  our 
attention  on  the  beautiful  and  the  good,  and 
dwell  as  little  as  possible  on  the  dark  and  the 
base." 

Yet  it  is  said  that  the  past-meridians  are 
prone  to  be  querulous,  dissatisfied,  and  to 
multiply  complaints.  I  think  I  have  heard  a 
few  of  these.  Supposing  we  should  listen  to 
and  examine  them. 

"  The  world  is  not  what  it  used  to  be."  No. 
It  is  in  a  state  of  palpable  progress.  It  has 
thrown  off  its  seven-mile  boots,  and  travels 
by  steam.  We  plod  after  it  in  our  antique, 
lumbering  stage-coaches,  and  can  scarcely 
keep  in  sight  the  smoke  of  its  engine.  We 
can  not  overtake  it,  and  it  will  not  stay  for 
us.  The  world  is  in  a  different  phase  of 


OLD.  25 

action.  It  pleads  guilty  to  this  accusation. 
What  next  ? 

"  We  do  not  receive  the  respect  that  was  once 
paid  to  age."  Perhaps  we  expect  too  much. 
Is  not  something  due  from  us  ?  We  think 
the  young  neglect  us.  Do  we  not  owe  some 
thing  to  the  young  ourselves  ?  Those  who 
linger  at  a  banquet  after  others  are  gone, 
should  take  especial  pains  to  make  themselves 
agreeable.  If  we  find  less  courtesy  than  we 
wish,  let  us  show  more.  It  becomes  us  to 
be  very  meek  and  patient,  to  make  amends 
for  our  long  entertainment  at  life's  board. 
"  I  had  a  beautiful  dream,"  said  a  bright  boy. 
"  I  thought  we  children  were  all  in  heaven, 
and  so  happy.  By  and  by,  grandfather  came 
in  frowning,  and  said  as  he  always  does, 
'  Can't  these  children  stop  their  noise  ? '  So, 
we  all  ran  away." 

"People  are  tired  of  us."  It  may  be  so. 
The  guest  who  tarries  late,  is  sometimes 
counted  intrusive  or  burdensome.  Toward 

those  who  have  long  retained  coveted  honors 
3* 


26  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

or  emoluments,  there  is  a  natural  impatience 
for  reversion.  "That  old  lawyer  has  stood 
first  at  the  bar,  long  enough,"  says  the 
younger  aspirant.  "  That  old  physician  gets 
all  the  practice ;  we  young  doctors  may 
starve."  "That  old  author  has  been  the 
favorite  of  the  public  an  unreasonable  time ; 
the  rest  of  us  want  a  fair  chance."  The 
monopoly  of  wealth  is  equally  hazardous, 
though  expectant  heirs  may  be  less  frank  in 
their  expression  of  impatience.  The  resig 
nation  at  the  departure  of  the  aged  and 
distinguished,  can  be  readily  understood. 
Allusions  to  the  majority  of  the  early  summon 
ed,  may  be  sometimes  significant.  "Those 
wThom  the  gods  love,  die  young,"  said  a 
pagan.  In  an  age  when  all  slow  movements 
are  unpopular,  speed  in  departure  may  possi 
bly  be  counted  among  the  graces;  and  in  a 
republic,  a  desire  for  the  equalization  of  hon 
ors,  is  neither  peculiar  nor  reprehensible. 

"  We  are  not  in  good  health."     Very  likely. 
It  would-  be  remarkable  if  we  were.     We 


OLD.  27 

could  not  expect  to  wear  the  world's  harness 
so  many  years,  up  hill,  and  down  hill,  with 
out  some  chafing.  It  would  be  a  wonder  if 
none  of  our  senses  were  enfeebled.  They 
have  served  us  for  a  long  time.  Let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  period  in  which  we  have 
seen  clearly,  heard  quickly,  and  moved  nim 
bly.  Many  mysterious  springs,  and  intricate 
chords,  and  delicate  humors,  have  been  kept 
in  order  to  this  end.  We  will  praise  the 
Architect  of  such  wonderful  mechanism,  that 
it  has  so  well  served  us,  and  that  He  has  seen 
fit  so  long  to  keep  the  "  pitcher  from  being 
broken  at  the  fountain,  or  the  wheel  at  the 
cistern." 

"  Our  early  friends  have  departed."  Ah  ! 
there  is  sadness  in  that  sound.  But  on  this 
tenure  we  commenced  our  earthly  journey. 
They  were  to  go  from  us,  or  we  from  them. 
We  linger  in  the  deserted  hall,  and  ought 
not  to  marvel  that  its  flowers  droop,  and  its 
lamps  wane,  or  are  extinguished.  Yet  our 
blessed  ones,  lost  for  a  time  on  earth,  are 


28  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

they  not  to  be  found  in  heaven?  Only  a 
little  in  advance  of  us,  have  they  forded  the 
dark  river.  See  we  not  their  white  gar 
ments  glitter  from  the  opposing  bank?  Does 
not  their  smile  inspire  us  with  courage  our 
selves  to  launch  away  ?  We  go  not  to  a 
stranger's  land.  Is  not  that  glorious  clime 
of  our  hope  endeared  by  the  thought  that  so 
many  of  those  whom  we  best  loved  here, 
await  us  there  ?  that  the  hands  which  we 
here  pressed  so  fondly,  shall  renew  the  love- 
ties,  which  death  for  a  moment  sundered? 
that  those  voices  which  have  never  ceased  to 
linger  in  our  hearts  as  a  treasured  melody, 
shall  be  the  first  to  welcome  us  to  the  society 
of  an  "innumerable  company  of  angels,  and 
to  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect?" 

Whoever  persists  in  complaining  of  this 
mortal  life,  virtually  admits  that  he  desires 
another.  Are  we  ready  for  an  untried  exist 
ence  ?  ready  at  a  moment's  warning  to  launch 
away,  and  return  no  more  ?  ready  for  its 
atmosphere  and  service  of  love  ? 


OLD.  29 

If  any  preparation  for  this  change  of  clime 
is  incomplete,  let  us  address  ourselves  fer 
vently  to  the  work,  without  loss  of  time  or 
energy  in  murmuring.  We  might,  indeed, 
in  our  loneliness  and  morbidness,  multiply 
complaints  without  end.  The  habit  would 
grow  with  indulgence,  till  every  breath  be 
came  a  claim  for  sympathy,  or  an  objurgation 
if  it  were  withheld. 

But  cui  bono  ?  Have  not  others  infirmities 
and  troubles,  as  well  as  ourselves?  Why 
add  to  their  load  ?  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  take  a  part  of  theirs?  "Bear  ye  one 
another's  burdens,  and  so  fulfill  the  law  of 
Christ."  It  hath  been  well  said  that  "  mur 
muring  is  a  black  garment,  and  becometh 
none  so  ill  as  saints." 

Oh  friends !  let  us  not  lose  our  interest 
in  life's  blessings,  because  we  have  so  long 
enjoyed  our  share  of  them.  Rather,  as  an 
eloquent  writer  of  our  own  has  said,  will  we 
"arise,  and  throw  open  a  window  in  our 
hearts,  and  let  in  the  tone  of  the  bird,  and 


30  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

the  breath  of  the  violet."  We  will  not  per 
mit  that  bright  heart-window  to  be  sealed, 
nor  the  hand,  through  our  own  inertness,  to 
become  paralyzed,  while  genial  nature  still 
spreads  her  charms  around  us,  and  invites  us 
to  rejoice  in  them,  and  in  the  God  who  gave 
them. 


CHAPTER   III. 


"  Gather  earth's  glory  and  bloom  within, 

That  the  soul  may  be  brighter  when  youth  is  past.'' 

MKS.  OSGOOD. 

"  THE  senses,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "  are  re 
porters  to  the  mind."  No  wonder  that  they 
should  get  wearied  with  taking  evidence, 
when  the  case  is  before  the  court,  some  three 
or  fourscore  years.  It  is  only  surprising  that 
their  declension  should  not  be  expected. 

Various  expedients  have  the  ingenuity  of 
man  devised,  to  strengthen  their  weakness, 
or  supply  their  loss.  The  spectacle-maker 
furnishes  eyes,  and  the  dentist,  teeth.  The 
worshipful  fraternity  of  wig-fanciers,  cover 
bald  temples  with  hair,  to  any  desired  pat 
tern  or  hue.  The  crutch-vender,  and  the 


32  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

cork- worker,  do  their  best  to  aid  diseased 
locomotion.  The  tiny,  curving  trumpet* 
promises  to  stir  the  dull  tympanum. 

Yet,  can  any  human  power  revivify  the 
defunct  ear  ?  If  sound  hath  died  in  its  mys 
terious  temple,  is  there  a  resurrection,  a 
second  life  ?  Among  the  senses,  that  of 
hearing  is  prone  to  be  the  most  frequently 
impaired,  and  when  lost,  to  awaken  the 
least  sympathy.  The  hand  is  involuntarily 
stretched  to  lead  the  blind,  or  to  give  a  seat 
to  the  lame.  But  at  the  approach  of  the 
deaf,  there  is  a  flight,  or  with  those  who 
remain,  a  sense  of  labor.  No  long  conver 
sations  can  be  anticipated,  save  with  the 
long-suffering.  Deafness,  more  than  other 
infirmities,  repels  intercourse,  and  cuts  the 
links  that  bind  man  to  society. 

Has  our  ear  grown  weary  ?  It  has  heard 
many  discords  in  its  day,  without  a  doubt. 
The  nerves,  its  ambassadors,  may  need  re 
pose.  It  is  true  that  we  are  thus  prevented 
from  rendering  ourselves  agreeable  in  society. 


REPORTERS.  33 

But,  perhaps,  when  we  were  there,  we  did 
not  do  or  receive  any  great  amount  of  good. 
Possibly,  our  oral  contributions  to  knowledge 
may  not  be  much  missed,  and  meditation 
may  be  as  serviceable  to  us  as  the  taking  in 
of  new  supplies.  It  may  be  our  true  wisdom 
to  withdraw  from  the  traffic  of  words,  and 
cultivate  a  more  thorough  acquaintance  with 
our  own  hearts,  and  our  hearts'  true  friends, 
the  angels.  Perchance,  we  have  lingered 
long  enough  among  earth's  broken  tones,  and 
are  called  to  reserve  our  listening  powers  for 
the  melodies  of  heaven. 

The  eye,  that  keeps  so  fresh  our  blessed 
communion  with  nature,  has  that  become 
dim  ?  Are  those  who  "  look  out  at  the  win 
dows,  darkened?"  Must  the  world  of  books 
be  in  a  great  measure  closed  to  us,  or  perhaps, 
the  dear  faces  of  friends  shrouded?  Then, 
the  soul's  pictures  gather  clearness,  and  mem 
ory  walks  in  halls  where  is  perpetual  light. 
Thought  concentrates  itself,  and  makes  its 
work  more  perfect.  Should  we  have  had  the 


34  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

Iliad  of  Homer,  or  the  greater  poems  of  Mil 
ton,  or  the  histories  of  Prescott,  if  the  outer 
eye  had  not  been  "  quench'd  by  drop  serene," 
and  the  flashing  of  the  world's  torches  and 
flambeaux  shut  out  from  the  mind's  sanc 
tuary  ?  Hear  the  brave,  blind  old  poet, 

"  So  much  the  rather,  thou  Celestial  Light, 
Shine  inward,  and  the  soul  thro'  all  her  powers 
Irradiate." 

Good  and  faithful  servants  have  the  report 
ing  senses  been  to  us.  Year  after  year  have 
they  spread  for  us  the  charms  of  nature,  and 
brought  us  the  music  of  the  living  world, 
and  the  odor  of  the  rose,  and  the  thrill  of 
the  love-kiss,  and  the  pleasure  drawn  from 
the  essences  of  earth's  fruits,  and  from  that 
inferior  creation  which  was  yielded  to  man's 
dominion,  that  the  nutriment  of  their  life 
might  sustain  his  own.  If  any  of  these  sen 
tinels  at  length  slumber  at  their  post,  if  they 
falter  or  decay,  we  will  not  view  it  as  an 
infliction,  or  an  affliction,  but  rather  as  a 
tranquillizing  pause  of  preparation  for  a  state 


REPORTERS.  35 

where  they  are  no  longer  needed.  While 
we  rejoice  that  they  have  for  many  years 
been  continued  to  us,  we  will  not  forget  to 
be  thankful  that  we  have  ourselves  also  been 
spared  for  further  improvement. 

How  many  dangers  have  been  overruled 
that  we  might  be  sheltered.  What  hosts  of 
enemies  have  been  trodden  down  that  we 
might  live.  In  how  many  nameless  forms 
does  death  beset  helpless  infancy.  From  the 
cradle  what  an  unending  procession  to  the 
grave.  The  little  hand  falls  powerless,  the 
eye  just  learning  to  love  the  light,  retires 
within  its  sealed  fringes,  the  tongue  that 
began  to  lisp  the  mother's  name  is  mute,  and 
she,  with  a  sorrow  that  words  have  never 
told,  is  a  weeper  over  a  small,  green  mound, 
or  starting  at  midnight,  stretches  her  empty 
arms  in  vain.  Yet  from  the  foes  that  beset 
waking  life,  we  have  been  saved. 

The  child  at  school,  having  surmounted 
the  perils  of  earlier  years,  is  considered  com 
paratively  safe.  Who  says  there  is  safety  at 


36 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


any  age,  if  he  has  heard  the  funeral  prayer 
by  the  pale  clay  so  late  full  of  vigor,  and  seen 
the  school-mates  move  a  mournful  train,  to 
the  cold  bed  of  the  loved  sharer  in  their 
studies  and  their  sports. 

Youth  is  forth,  like  the  morning-sun  upon 
the  green  hill-tops.  Its  cheek  is  bloom;  its 
step,  grace;  its  voice,  melody.  No  care  hath 
touched  it,  and  kneeling  love  worships  it  as 
an  idol.  Rose  there  a  voice  upon  the  sad 
dened  air,  "ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust!" 
All  is  over.  Perchance,  it  was  our  bosom's 
friend.  Yet  we  lived,  and  passed  onward. 

The  father  and  mother  are  the  centre  of  a 
happy  circle.  All  their  powers  are  in  requi 
sition  to  protect,  to  guide,  to  foster  the  chil 
dren  whom  God  hath  given  them.  They 
seem  essential  to  their  welfare,  not  only  for 
the  "  life  that  now  is,  but  for  that  which  is  to 
come."  Their  place  is  empty.  Their  voice 
is  silent.  To  the  home  of  their  love  they 
return  no  more,  and  the  orphans  go  about 
the  streets. 


REPORTERS.  37 

But  have  we  been  permitted  to  see  our 
nursery-plants  grow  up,  and  cast  a  fair  shad 
ow  ?  Have  we  taken  a  blossom  from  their 
stem,  a  baby  grandchild  upon  our  knee,  and 
felt  its  velvet  fingers  moving  lovingly  amid 
our  silver  hairs,  and  new  life  entering  into 
our  veins  from  its  quickly  beating  heart,  or 
merry  laughter?  And  was  not  this  new 
affection  as  fond  as  that  of  young  paternity, 
as  warm  with  fresh  hope,  and  perchance  even 
more  pleasant,  in  being  freed  from  an  anxious 
burden  of  accountability  ? 

Why  should  we  ever  forget  to  be  thankful  ? 
Does  the  soldier,  standing  at  his  own  quiet 
door,  having  left  most  of  his  comrades  stark 
and  stiffen  fields  of  warfare,  feel  no  gratitude  ? 
Does  the  sailor,  whose  companions  sank  with 
the  wrecked  ship,  view  with  indifference  the 
life-boat  that  rescued  him  from  the  whelming 
wave  ? 

Behold,  from  the  battle  and  the  storm,  we 
have  been  saved.  Wherefore  we  are  thus 

distinguished,  it  is  not  for  us  to  say.     Yet  a 

4* 


38  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

weight  of  obligation  rests  on  us,  to  render,  in 
some  proportion,  according  to  the  benefits  we 
have  received,  and  the  risks  from  which  we 
have  been  shielded. 

Are  we  not  in  life's  school,  the  highest  class? 
the  longest  under  training  ?  and  probably  the 
first  to  be  dismissed?  How  can  we  best 
prove  that  our  tuition  has  not  been  in  vain, 
that  He  who  hath  granted  us  such  a  protract 
ed  term  of  fatherly  discipline,  will  not  pro 
nounce  us  idle  scholars,  or  profitless  stewards 
of  his  abounding  mercy  ?  So  faithfully  served 
by  His  reporters,  we  should  surely  be  able  to 
present  a  good  report  at  last. 

Sometimes,  in  seasons  of  earnest  supplica 
tion,  we  may  have  felt  as  if  we  could  adopt 
the  appeal  of  the  endangered  debtor,  "Have 
patience  with  me,  and  I  will  pay  thee  all." 

The  Master  hath  had  patience  with  us. 
How  have  we  performed  our  part  of  the 
contract  ? 


CHAPTER   IV. 


of 


"  The  old  man  sate  in  his  elbow-chair, 

His  locks  were  thin  and  gray  ; 
Memory,  that  early  friend,  was  there, 

And  he  in  querulous  tones  did  say, 
'  Hast  thou  not  lost,  with  careless  key, 

Something  that  I  entrusted  to  thee  ?' 
Her  tardy  answer  was  sad  and  low, 

"  I  fear,  I  fear  that  it  may  be  so.'" 

KNOWLEDGE,  in  all  ages  of  the  civilized 
world,  has  been  prized  and  coveted.  The 
cloistered  monk  made  it  of  old,  a  substitute 
for  life's  warm  charities,  and  the  philosopher 
of  modern  times  finds  in  it  a  more  permanent 
distinction  than  rank  or  wealth  can  bestow. 
The  pleasures  of  original  thought,  of  deep 
research,  of  high  converse  with  nature  or 
with  art,  are  a  rich  reward  for  the  perse  ver- 


40  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

ance  they  require.     For  them,  both  contem 
plative  and  ambitious  men  have  been  content 

"  To  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days." 

To  the  mind  thus  elevated,  the  joys  of 
heaven  are  enhanced  by  the  thought  that 
there  its  aspirations  will  be  freed  from  the 
barriers  and  obstacles  that  fettered  them  here 
below.  A  fair,  young  creature,  to  whom 
death  had  dealt  the  final  stroke,  pointed 
upward  in  ecstatic  hope,  and  said  with  her 
ebbing  breath, 

"  There,  boundless  floods  of  knowledge  roll, 
And  pour,  and  pour  upon  the  soul." 

To  retain,  as  well  as  to  amass  this  precious 
treasure,  is  a  point  of  immense  importance. 
The  "  custodia,"  or  military  guard  of  the  an 
cient  Romans,  led  chained  to  his  left  hand, 
the  prisoner  or  captive  committed  to  his 
charge.  Of  memory,  w^e  are  wront  to  expect 
similar  vigilance.  The  tendency  of  advanced 
age,  is  to  impair  its  custody.  Whether  this 
tendency  is  inevitable,  or  to  be  resisted,  is  an 
inquiry  of  serious  import. 


THE     CUSTODY     OF     KNOWLEDGE.  41 

The  venerable  President  Quincy,  whose 
retentive  powers,  and  mental  elasticity,  sur 
mount  the  pressure  of  time,  thus  pleasantly 
alludes  to  this  subject,  in  a  speech  on  a  pub 
lic  occasion  in  Boston,  when  he  had  num 
bered  seventy  years : 

"  To  an  old  man,  Memory  is  wont  to  be  an 
arrant  jilt,  and  is  no  way  delicate  in  letting 
him  know,  that  like  the  rest  of  her  sex,  she 
gives  young  men  the  preference." 

The  fidelity  of  Memory,  is  doubtless  more 
entire,  for  trusts  committed  to  her  in  early 
life.  She  had  then,  fewer  objects  to  divide 
her  attention,  and  more  room  in  her  casket 
to  arrange  her  accumulating  stores.  She 
attaches  the  highest  value  to  what  was 
gained  with  toil,  so  that  the  axioms  and 
precepts  which  were  deepened  by  education, 
seldom  escape  her. 

There  are  some  who  propose  the  use  of 
written  memoranda,  as  an  expedient  for 
mental  retention.  Yet  they  serve  rather  to 
nourish  the  sloth  of  Memory,  than  to  gird  her 


42  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

for  healthful  action.  Is  it  necessary  that  she 
should  fail  with  vears,  unless  the  action  of 

•/ 

disease  impairs  some  of  those  organs  through 
whose  agency  she  has  been  accustomed  to 
receive  impressions  ? 

The  women  of  our  aborigines  were  the 
keepers  of  the  archives  and  legendary  lore  of 
their  tribes.  In  extreme  age,  their  powers 
of  recollection  have  been  observed  to  be  per 
manent  and  vivid.  I  saw  one  of  the  Mohegan 
nation,  who  had  numbered  one  hundred  and 
seventeen  years.  The  skin  upon  her  face 
and  hands  was  rigid  and  mottled  as  the  bark 
of  a  tree,  and  from  her  eyes  light  had  long 
departed.  Yet  within,  the  lamp  of  memory 
clearly  burned.  She  spoke  of  the  state  of 
her  people,  in  the  far-off  days  of  her  child 
hood,  of  the  terror  they  felt  at  the  powerful 
and  savage  Mohawks,  of  the  lineaments  of 
different  chieftains  who  had  borne  sway,  and 
of  the  spreading  strength  of  the  whites,  who 
like  a  great  oak-tree  overshadowed  them. 
She  graphically  narrated  many  circumstances 


THE     CUSTODY     OF     KNOWLEDGE.  43 

of  the  visit  of  her  brother,  the  Rev.  Samson 
Occum,  to  England,  of  the  kindness  that  was 
shown  him  there  by  the  great  and  good,  the 
presents  that  were  made  him,  and  spoke 
especially  of  the  books  that  he  so  proudly 
brought  back  to  his  native  shores. 

I  had  also  a  valued  friend,  who  reached 
the  age  of  one  hundred  and  one,  whose 
memory  was  not  confined  to  the  impressions 
of  early  years,  but  took  sympathetic  cogni 
zance  of  passing  events.  An  amiable  temper 
kept  awake  his  interest  in  all  around,  and 
prevented  the  hermetical  sealing  of  what 
only  concerned  his  own  early  and  imme 
diate  sphere. 

That  infirmity  of  the  retentive  faculties  is 
inseparable  from  advanced  age,  seems  the 
general  opinion.  I  would  ask,  if  it  is  a  con 
dition  of  mind,  exclusively  confined  to  the 
old  ?  I  think  I  have  known  the  blooming 
and  the  vigorous  to  forget  many  things.  The 
young  girl  may  forget  to  learn  her  lessons, 
and  the  graduate  of  college,  the  lessons  that 


44  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

he  has  learned.  The  philosopher  has  been 
known  to  forget  his  own  theories,  and  the 
eloquent  statesman  to  pay  his  debts.  It  is 
not  the  exclusive  province  of  grey  hairs  to 
forget  attainments,  resolutions  or  promises. 
There  was  a  gentleman  who  had  the  reputa 
tion  of  forgetting  the  precise  hour  that  had 
been  appointed  for  his  marriage,  and  was 
found  prolonging  a  walk,  when  the  bridal 
party  had  assembled.  Whether  this  was  real 
forgetfulness,  or  affectation,  I  was  not  given 
distinctly  to  understand.  But  at  any  rate, 
he  had  not  lost  his  memory  through  age. 

Consider  what  untiring  efforts  are  made, 
to  strengthen  the  retentive  powers  of  the 
young.  Stated  lessons  through  their  whole 
scholastic  period,  daily  recitation  and  repeti 
tion,  conversation  with  teachers  and  fellow- 
pupils,  deepening,  riveting,  incorporating 
knowledge  with  the  very  structure  of  the 
mind.  Memory  is  thus  made  a  prompt, 
active  servant.  She  is  strong  through  exer 
cise.  She  has  no  time  to  idle  away.  She 


THE    CUSTODY     OF     KNOWLEDGE.  45 

is  busy,  tinging  dreams,  even  when  the  body 
sleeps. 

But  we,  who  have  been  warned  of  her  dis 
position  to  become  a  deserter,  take  few  pre 
cautions  to  detain  her.  Perhaps  we  feed  her 
on  the  old,  mouldy  corn,  and  neglect  to  give 
her  a  taste  of  the  new  harvest.  Cognizance 
of  passing  things,  as  well  as  of  recorded 
events,  is  essential  to  her  healthful  condition. 

I  had  a  friend,  God  bless  every  memorial 
and  mention  of  him,  who  to  the  verge  of 
eighty,  labored  to  preserve  a  naturally  strong 
memory,  not  only  by  interest  in  the  concerns 
of  others,  but  by  learning  daily,  by  heart, 
something  from  books.  Can  we  not  form  the 
habit  of  acquiring  verbatim,  every  day,  a  few 
lines  of  poetry,  or  a  single  verse  from  the 
Bible  ? 

Can't  we  remember  ?     I  suspect  the  failure 
to  be  that  of  sufficient  repetition.     No  one  is 
interested  to  hear  us.     The  child,  whose  first, 
faltering  intonations,  we  fostered  with  paren 
tal  pride,  is  immersed  in  the  cares  of  life,  and 


46  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

cannot  regard  our  fragmentary  gleanings. 
We  need  not  expect  our  children,  or  grand 
children,  to  listen  to  our  mental  gatherings, 
as  we  have  done  to  theirs.  Friends  and  vis 
itants,  we  would  not  wish  to  annoy,  and  thus 
the  privilege  of  repetition,  on  which  memory 
so  much  depends,  is  forfeited. 

An  aged  gentleman,  who  wTas  not  willing 
to  lose  the  advantage  of  thus  deepening  the 
traces  of  a  course  of  history  he  was  pursuing, 
devised  an  ingenious  expedient.  A  promis 
ing  youth,  the  expenses  of  whose  education 
he  was  kindly  defraying,  came  daily  at  a 
regular  time,  to  read  to  him.  He  employed 
a  portion  of  this  interval,  in  a  condensed 
statement  of  what  he  had  perused  in  solitude, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  how  tenaciously  it 
afterward  adhered  to  remembrance.  Thus 
the  pupil  unconsciously  became  a  teacher, 
and  the  benefactor  shared  in  his  own  gifts. 

Why  would  it  not  be  well  for  neighbors 
who  are  advanced  in  years,  to  meet  at  allotted 
periods,  and  converse  critically  of  the  authors 


THE      CUSTODY     OF     KNOWLEDGE.  47 

they  are  reading,  and  repeat  what  they  have 
considered  worthy  to  be  committed  to  mem 
ory  ?  If  it  should  seem  too  much  like  a 
school,  is  there  any  objection  to  that  ?  Why 
might  there  not  be  schools  for  the  aged,  as 
well  as  schools  of  the  prophets  ?  Life  is  a 
school.  "  I  shall  be  thankful  to  die,  learning 
something,"  said  a  wise  man. 

The  truth  is,  that  Memory  requires  more 
culture,  than  the  aged  are  inclined  to  give 
her.  They  take  it  for  granted  that  she  must 
decay,  and  antedate  the  time.  They  release 
her  from  service  among  the  living  present, 
and  force  her  to  look  only  backward,  until 
the  sinews  of  her  neck  are  stiffened.  One 
remedy  for  deepening  what  we  do  not  wish 
to  forget,  is  to  teach  it  to  others.  An  auditory 
of  little  ones  will  usually  hang  around  the  old 
person  who  tells  them  stories.  Grave  truths, 
and  sacred  precepts,  may  be  thus  enwrapped 
in  "  sugary  narrative,"  with  a  salutary  and 
lasting  influence.  One  aged  person  who  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  briefly  writing  in  a  jour- 


V 
48  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

nal,  from  early  life,  found  it  profitable  in  his 
nightly  self-examination,  to  trace  back  the 
same  day  through  many  years,  recalling  the 
dealings  of  divine  providence  with  himself 
and  others,  and  selecting  some  subject  for  the 
little  descriptive  entertainment  his  grand 
children  expected  from  him  every  morning. 

It  has  been  already  admitted  that  passing 
events  are  more  difficult  to  be  retained  by  the 
aged  than  those  which  were  coeval  with 
their  prime.  Is  not  the  antidote,  to  mingle  as 
much  interest  and  affection  as  possible  with 
the  moving  drama  of  life,  and  its  actors  1  to 
entwine  around  each  new  generation,  the  ten 
drils  of  sympathy,  not  forgetting  to  "  rejoice 
with  them  who  do  rejoice  ? "  Thus  shall 
Memory,  fed  by  kindly  sympathies,  like  the 
Roman  captive,  nourished  at  his  daughter's 
breast,  endure  and  flourish. 

"  Ah !  when  shall  all  men's  good 
Be  each  man's  care  ?  and  universal  love 
Strike  like  a  shaft  of  light,  across  the  land  ?" 

Should  it  be  felt,  or  feared,  that  in  spite  of 
every  precaution,  Memory  indeed  grows  in- 


THE     CUSTODY     OF     KNOWLEDGE.  49 

ert  to  intellectual  gatherings,  or  to  the  routine 
of  daily  events,  that  she  records  not  as  for 
merly  the  dates  of  history,  or  the  names  of 
men,  let  the  heart  breathe  upon  her.  That 
is  Ithuriel's  spear.  Though  her  key  may 
have  been  so  long  used,  that  some  of  its 
wards  are  worn,  Love's  hand  can  turn  it. 

Heart-memories  are  the  most  indelible.  A 
woman  of  more  than  fourscore,  in  whom  sick 
ness  had  prostrated  both  physical  and  mental 
energies,  failed  to  state  correctly,  even  the 
number  of  her  children.  A  friend  endeavored 
to  restore  the  imagery  of  active  years,  but  in 
vain.  At  length,  the  circumstance  of  her 
father's  leaving  home  to  take  a  soldier's  part 
in  the  war  of  our  Revolution,  was  accidentally 
mentioned.  It  had  called  forth  the  deep 
anxieties  of  an  affectionate  family,  when  she 
was  yet  a  young  child.  The  fountain  of  the 
heart  heaved,  light  came  to  her  eye,  and  a 
tear  glittered  there,  as  she  murmured, 

"  I  remember, — yes, — I  remember  his  kiss 

5* 


50  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

when  he  turned  away  from  the  door.  It  is 
warm  on  my  cheek,  now." 

If  Memory  is  weary,  it  is  safe  to  sustain  her 
on  the  arm  of  that  blessed  charity  which  em 
braces  all  mankind.  The  religion  whose  seat 
is  in  the  affections,  survives  when  polemic 
fervor  and  theological  subtleties  fade  in  obliv 
ion.  The  instance  of  the  aged  clergyman, 
who  forgot  his  boyhood's  friend,  the  favorite 
son  under  whose  roof  he  dwelt,  and  the  dar 
ling  babe  who  was  daily  brought  to  nestle  in 
his  bosom,  yet  remembered  the  name  of  his 
"  dear  Saviour,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,"  is  well 
known,  but  always  worthy  of  being  repeated. 

If  holy  love  thus  keeps  alive  the  memory, 
like  living  waters  at  its  root,  when  its  green 
leaves  are  crisp  with  frost,  let  us  labor  to 
strengthen  that  love  toward  God,  and  likewise 
toward  this  fleeting  world,  precious  because  it 
is  His  world,  and  His  hand  has  placed  us  as 
pilgrims  in  it.  Yet  should  we  feel  within 
ourselves,  that  Memory  has  become  vacilla 
ting  or  infirm,  we  will  be  in  no  haste  to  pro- 


THE     CUSTODY     OF     KNOWLEDGE.  51 

claim  it  on  the  house-tops.  There  are  enough 
who  are  ready  and  swift  to  publish  the  de 
clension,  if  we  admit  it  ourselves.  Rather 
should  we  struggle  to  keep  hold  of  the  hand 
of  that  old  and  tried  friend,  as  long  as  possi 
ble.  We  will  not  expose  her  weakness,  nor 
say  that  she  has  deserted  us,  while  we  can 
touch  the  hem  of  her  garment.  We  will  not 
see  her  go  forth  like  Hagar,  from  Abraham's 
tent,  without  putting  on  her  shoulder  the 
water-bottle  that  she  may  refresh  herself  in 
the  wilderness.  Though  she  return  no  more 
to  the  oaks  of  Mamre,  yet  if  we  are  at  last  so 
blessed  as  to  meet  the  angels  who  visited 
there,  she  will  be  with  them;  for  she  is  never 
to  die. 


CHAPTER   V. 


of 


"  The  principle  of  beauty  hath  no  age, 
It  looketh  forth,  even  though  the  eye  be  dim, 
The  forehead  frost-crown'd,  yea,  it  looketh  forth 
Like  holy  star,  on  all  whom  God  hath  made." 

THE  beauty  of  age  !  Does  any  one  call  me 
ironical,  or  point  the  finger  at  me  in  derision  ? 
Verily,  I  am  speaking  in  good  faith. 

Yet  am  I  not  ignorant  of  what  Time  takes 
away.  I  know  that  he  is  prone  to  steal  from 
the  eye  its  lustre,  and  from  the  Parian  brow 
its  smoothness.  The  round  cheek  falls  away 
at  his  ploughshare,  and  the  dimples  disappear. 
The  hair  no  longer  abundant,  leaves  the  bald 
crown,  or  withered  temples  unshielded.  Its 
hues  of  chesnut,  or  auburn,  or  raven  black, 
vanish,  and  the  complexion,  no  longer  relieved 
by  their  rich  contrast,  loses  its  tint  of  rose  or 


BEAUTYOFAGE.  53 

lily,  and  settles  into  the  trying  companionship 
of  iron  grey  or  white.  The  erect  form  yields 
its  dignity.  The  vertebral  column  bends, 
and  the  limbs  resign  their  elasticity.  Happy 
are  they,  who  are  compelled  to  call  in  no  aid 
from  crutch,  or  staff,  to  sustain  their  footsteps. 
The  beautiful  hand  loses  its  plumpness,  and 
bones  and  sinews  and  jagged  veins  become 
protuberant.  Even  the  ear  sometimes  forfeits 
its  delicate  symmetry,  and  grows  elephantine. 
The  voice  is  prone  to  forget  its  harmony,  or 
unmodified  by  its  dental  allies,  "pipes  and 
whistles  in  its  sound." 

All  these  deteriorations,  and  more  than 
these,  I  admit,  yet  boldly  sustain  my  argu 
ment,  the  beauty  of  age. 

Where  is  it  ?  In  what  does  it  consist  ? 
Its  dwelling  is  in  the  soul,  and  it  makes  itself 
visible  by  radiations  that  reach  the  soul;  by 
the  smile  of  benevolence,  by  limitless  good 
will,  by  a  saintly  serenity,  by  the  light  of 
heaven,  shining  upon  the  head  that  is  so 
near  it. 


54  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

The  smile  of  Washington,  which  had  always 
possessed  a  peculiar  charm,  gathered  force 
and  sweetness  from  the  snows  of  time.  One 
who  was  accustomed  to  meet  him  in  the  fam 
ily,  says,  "  Whenever  he  gave  me  one  of  these 
smiles3 1  always  felt  the  tears  swelling  under 
my  eye-lids." 

What  an  affecting  sketch  of  the  tranquil 
beauty  of  age  on  which  death  hath  set  its 
seal,  is  given  in  a  letter  from  Pope,  to  an 
artist  whom  he  desires  to  preserve  the  like 
ness  of  the  mother  whose  declining  years 
were  soothed  by  his  filial  love  and  duty. 

"My  poor  old  mother  is  dead.  I  thank 
God  that  her  death  was  as  easy  as  her  life 
has  been  innocent ;  and  as  it  cost  her  not  a 
groan,  or  even  a  sigh,  there  is  still  upon 
her  countenance  such  an  expression  of  tran 
quillity,  nay,  almost  of  pleasure,  that  it  is 
amiable  to  behold.  It  would  afford  the  finest 
image  of  a  saint  expired,  that  painter  ever 
drew ;  and  it  would  be  the  greatest  obliga 
tion  which  that  art  could  bestow  on  a  friend, 


BEAUTYOFAGE.  55 

if  you  could  come  and  sketch  it  for  me.  I 
hope  to  see  you  soon,  ere  this  winter-flower 
shall  have  faded.  I  will  defer  the  interment 
until  to-morrow  night.  I  know  you  love  "me, 
or  I  could  not  have  written  this,  or  indeed,  at 
such  a  time,  have  written  at  all.  Adieu. 
May  you  die  as  happy." 

At  his  villa  of  Twickenham,  bought  with 
the  first  fruits  of  his  translation  of  Homer's 
Iliad,  the  poet  sheltered  and  solaced  this 
venerable  mother.  From  her  honored  seat 
at  his  fireside,  her  tender,  simple  message 
cheered  him  amid  his  toils.  "I  send  you  my 
daily  prayers,  and  I  bless  you,  my  deare." 
More  touching  and  admirable  was  the  inter 
change  of  these  hallowed  sensibilities,  than 
all  the  melody  of  his  verse. 

Of  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  age,  I  have  been 
so  happy  as  to  see  some  distinguished  speci 
mens.  My  infant  eyes  opened  upon  one. 
My  earliest  perceptions  of  the  beautiful  and 
holy,  were  entwined  with  silver  hairs,  and  I 
bless  God,  that  the  fourteen  first  years  of  life, 


56  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

dwelt  under  their  serene  shadow.  A  fair 
countenance,  a  clear,  blue  eye,  and  a  voice 
of  music,  return  to  me  as  I  recall  the  image 
of  that  venerated  lady,  over  whom  more 
than  threescore  and  ten  years  had  passed, 
ere  I  saw  the  light.  Her  tall,  graceful  form, 
moving  with  elastic  step  through  the  parterres, 
whose  numerous  flowers  she  superintended, 
and  her  brow  raised  in  calm  meditation,  from 
the  sacred  volume  she  was  reading,  were  to 
me  beautiful.  Many  sought  to  take  counsel 
of  her,  both  for  the  things  of  this  life  and  the 
next,  and  her  words  were  so  uttered  as  to 
make  them  happier  as  well  as  wiser.  The 
sorrowful  came  to  be  enlightened  by  the  sun 
beam  that  dwelt  in  her  spirit,  and  the  chil 
dren  of  want  for  bread  and  a  garment ;  for 
her  wealth  was  the  Lord's,  and  when  she 
cast  it  into  His  treasury,  it  was  with  a  smile, 
as  if  she  was  herself  the  receiver.  The 
beauty  of  the  soul  was  hers,  that  waxeth  not 
old.  Love  was  in  her  heart  to  all  whom  God 
had  made,  a  love  not  ending  in  blind  indul- 


BEAUTY     OF     AGE.  57 

gence,  but  seeking  to  elevate  them  in  the 
scale  of  existence.  Thus  it  was  until  eighty- 
eight  years  had  passed  over  her ;  and  when 
she  entered  the  exalted  society  for  which  she 
had  been  fitted  here,  tears  flowed  widely  and 
freely,  as  for  one  in  their  prime.  At  her 
grave,  I  learned  my  first  lesson  of  a  bursting 
grief  that  has  never  been  forgotten.  Let 
none  say  that  the  aged  die  unloved,  or  un- 
mourned  by  the  young.  It  is  not  so. 

Another,  I  knew,  without  munificent  en 
dowment  of  mind,  person,  or  position.  Yet 
had  he  to  the  last,  a  beauty  that  love  followed, 
the  beauty  of  kind  regard  to  all  creatures,  and 
of  a  perfect  temperament  that  never  yielded 
to  anger.  Hence,  the  wheels  of  life  ran  on 
without  chafing,  and  in  his  eighty-eighth  year, 
his  step  was  as  elastic  as  at  twenty,  the  florid 
hue  of  his  cheek  unchanged,  and  his  bright, 
brown  hair,  without  a  thread  of  silver.  He 
loved  the  plants  and  flowers,  and  knew  how 
scientifically  to  promote  their  welfare,  and  to 
enrich  the  dark,  brown  mould,  with  golden 


58  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

fruits,  and  fair  vine-clusters.  By  these  sweet 
recreations,  life  was  made  sweeter,  and  re 
newed  its  pleasures,  like  the  fresh  spring- 
buds,  and  the  bird  that  returns  again  to  its 
nest  after  the  winter.  Sorrows  he  had  tasted, 
but  they  left  no  cloud,  only  a  deeper  tender 
ness  for  all  who  mourned.  His  religion  had 
no  mixture  of  coldness  toward  those  who  dif 
fered  from  him,  no  exclusiveness,  no  bigotry. 
The  frailties  of  those  around,  he  regarded 
with  gentleness,  or  with  pity.  He  blamed 
not,  upbraided  not.  On  his  loving  soul,  there 
was  no  slander-spot.  His  life  was  like  one 
long  smile,  closing  with  a  music-strain.  And 
on  it  was  written  as  a  fair  motto,  "  the  man 
without  an  enemy  " 

From  the  sacred  pictures  of  the  departed 
that  hang  in  the  soul's  temple,  I  would  fain 
select  another.  It  is  of  a  friend,  who  in  early 
years,  suffered  from  feebleness  of  constitution, 
yet  by  care  and  temperance,  so  renovated  his 
health,  that  age  was  to  him  better,  and  more 
vigorous  than  youth.  A  strong  perception  of 


BEAUTYOFAGE.  59 

the  beautiful,  both  in  nature  and  art,  lighted 
up  his  mind  with  a  perpetual  sunbeam.  His 
fine  taste  went  hand  in  hand  with  a  perfect 
philanthropy,  so  that  what  he  admired,  he 
patronized,  and  what  he  patronized,  he 
spread  abroad,  that  others  might  share  his 
enjoyment.  The  gates  of  his  spacious  rural 
villa,  were  thrown  open  as  a  pleasure-ground 
for  all  the  people,  and  with  the  treasures 
of  literature  and  the  arts,  he  enriched  the 
noble  public  institute  that  he  founded. 
"The  holy  truth  walked  ever  by  his  side;" 
while  independence  of  thought  and  action, 
with  regard  to  men,  was  mingled  with  the 
deepest  humility  and  reverence  toward  God. 
To  draw  merit  from  obscurity,  to  sustain 
honest  industry,  to  encourage  humble  virtue, 
to  stimulate  the  young  to  higher  effort,  and 
silently  to  relieve  the  suffering  poor,  were  his 
pleasures.  And  with  these  pleasures  would 
sometimes  steal  over  his  brow  an  expression 
denied  to  what  the  world  calls  beauty,  "the 
set  of  features,  and  complexion,  the  tincture 


60  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

of  the  skin,  that  she  admires."  It  was  the 
beauty  of  the  soul,  looking  forth  in  the  life 
of  one,  who  faithfully  and  without  ostenta 
tion,  held  his  large  fortune  in  stewardship 
for  God  and  for  man. 

By  his  side  was  a  being  of  an  angelic  spirit, 
who  strengthened  all  his  high  resolves,  and 
tenderly  divided  his  sorrows  and  his  joys. 
Methinks  I  see  her,  as  if  she  now  sate  beside 
me ;  her  delicate,  upright,  symmetrical  form, 
the  grace  of  her  movements,  the  magic  of  her 
smile,  the  courteous  manners,  that  charmed 
even  the  unrefined,  the  tasteful  adaptation  of 
costume  to  position,  and  the  perfect  judgment 
that  led  her  to  choose 

"Best  means  for  wisest  ends,  and  speak  right  words 
At  fitting  times." 

She  was  said  to  have  been  exceedingly 
beautiful  in  youth,  but  the  portraits  of  that 
period  bore  no  resemblance  to  her  counte 
nance  in  advanced  years,  so  much  had  Time 
changed  its  structure.  Yet  she  held  a  talis 
man  over  wrhich  he  had  no  power,  a  good- 


BEAUTYOFAGE.  61 

ness,  disrobed  of  self,  enchanting  all  that 
came  within  its  sphere,  and  a  trusting  piety 
that  knew  no  cloud. 

Thus  she,  and  the  companion  of  her  days, 
made  their  childless  home  attractive  to  every 
visitant,  until  the  verge  of  fourscore,  when 
they  entered  a  mansion  not  made  with  hands. 
She  wTas  first  summoned,  and  through  a  lin 
gering  decline,  sought  strength  from  above, 
to  adhere  as  far  as  possible  to  her  habits  of 
usefulness,  and  that  gentle  self-renunciation, 
which  in  promoting  the  good  of  others,  forgot 
its  own  sufferings.  As  her  step  grew  feeble, 
her  brow  became  more  sweetly  serene,  and 
daily  she  took  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  the 
fireside,  that  she  might  cheer  him  by  her 
presence,  whose  life  of  life  was  in  her. 

The  last  night  that  she  was  with  us  below, 
she  spent  as  usual,  some  time  in  her  oratory, 
ere  retiring  to  her  chamber  for  repose.  What 
the  angels  said  to  her,  in  that  sacred  seclu 
sion,  or  what  she  said  to  her  God,  we  know 

6* 


62  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

not ;  but  at  the  midnight  hour  they  came,  to 
bear  her  to  Him.     And  she  was  ready. 

It  was  not  for  us  to  hear  their  whisper, 
"  Sister  spirit,  come  away  !  "  but  we  saw  that 
they  left  on  the  untroubled  brow,  a  smile  as 
calm,  as  holy  as  their  own.  And  we  gave 
glory  to  God,  through  our  tears,  for  her 
blessed  example,  who  had  departed  this  life 
in  His  faith  and  fear. 

Countless  instances  might  be  adduced  of 
the  subdued  and  saintly  lustre  that  marks 
the  sunset  of  well-spent  life.  And  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  me  thus  to  enlarge,  for  it  has 
been  my  privilege  often  to  be  near,  and 
always  to  admire  the  "  hoary  head  found  in 
the  way  of  righteousness"." 

I  must  indulge  myself  and  my  readers 
with  one  more  example.  It  is  a  description 
from  the  graceful  pen  of  N.  P.  Willis,  of  his 
own  beautiful  rural  life  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson. 

"  Our  venerable  neighbor,  of  eighty  years  of  age,  who  with 
his  white  locks,  and  face  beaming  with  the  benignity  of  a 


BEAUTY     OF     AGE. 


63 


summer's  evening,  came  back  at  the  first  softening  of  the 
season.  He  goes  to  the  city — this  beloved  neighbor  of 
ours — when  the  roads  become  impassable  for  his  tremulous 
feet ;  but  he  gains  health,  (as  he  was  saying  with  his  usual 
truthful  wisdom  to-day,)  not  alone  from  the  sidewalks  and 
other  opportunities  of  exercise.  In  the  mental  '  change  of 
air'  he  finds  an  invigorating  tonic,  (one,  by  the  way,  which 
I  am  glad  of  this  bright  example  to  assist  in  recommending 
to  the  dispirited  invalid,  for  there  is  more  medicine  in  it 
than  would  be  believed,  without  trial,)  and  he  inhales  it  in 
the  larger  field  that  he  finds  for  the  instructive  benevo 
lence  which  forms  his  occupation  in  the  country.  He 
passes  his  time  in  the  city  in  visiting  schools,  hospitals, 
prisons — every  place  where  human  love  and  wisdom  would 
look  in  together.  He  speaks  fluently.  His  voice  is  singu 
larly  sweet  and  winning ;  and,  with  his  genial  and  beau 
tiful  expression  of  countenance,  his  fine  features,  and  the 
venerable  dignity  of  his  bent  form  in  its  Quaker  garb,  he 
is  listened  to  with  exceeding  interest.  Children  particu 
larly,  delight  to  hang  on  his  words.  One  great  charm, 
perhaps,  is  his  singular  retention  of  creativeness  of  mind — 
though  so  old,  still  continuing  to  talk  as  he  newly  thinks, 
not  as  he  remembers.  The  circumstances  of  the  moment, 
therefore,  suffice  for  a  theme,  or  for  the  attractive  woof 
on  which  to  broider  instruction,  and  he  does  it  with  a 
mingled  playfulness  and  earnestness  which  form  a  most 


64  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

attractive  as  well  as  valuable  lesson.  Can  any  price  be 
put  on  such  an  old  man,  as  the  belonging  of  a  neighbor 
hood?  Can  landscape  gardening  invent  anything  more 
beautiful  than  such  a  form  daily  seen  coming  through  an 
avenue  of  trees,  his  white  locks  waving  in  the  wind,  and 
the  children  running  out  to  meet  him  with  delight  ? 

Friend  S strolls  to  Idlewild,  on  any  sunny  day, 

and  joins  us  at  any  meal,  or  lies  down  to  sleep  or  rest  on 
a  sofa  in  the  library — and  can  painting  or  statuary  give 
us  any  semblance,  more  hallowing  to  the  look  and  char 
acter  of  a  home,  more  cheering  and  dignifying  to  its  at 
mosphere  and  society?  Among  the  Arts — among  the 
refinements  of  taste — in  the  culture  of  Beauty,  in  Amer 
ica — let  us  give  Old  Age  its  preeminence !  The  best 
arm-chair  by  the  fireside,  the  privileged  room  with  its 
warmest  curtains  and  freshest  flowers,  the  preference  and 
first  place  in  all  groups  and  scenes  in  which  Age  can 
mingle — such  is  the  proper  frame  and  setting  for  this 
priceless  picture  in  a  home.  With  less  slavery  to  business, 
and  better  knowledge  and  care  of  health,  we  shall  have 
more  Old  Age  in  our  country — in  other  words,  for  our 
homes,  there  will  be  more  of  the  most  crowning  beauty." 

Youth  hath  its  beauty,  tress  and  smile, 

And  cheek  of  glowing  ray ; 
They  charm  the  admiring  eye  awhile, 

Then  fade,  and  fleet  away  ; 


BEAUTYOFAGE.  65 

But  Age,  with  heaven-taught  wisdom  crown'd, 

That  waits  its  Father's  will, 
And  walks  in  love  with  all  around, 

Hath  higher  beauty  still. 

Are  not  the  changes  in  man's  life,  like 
those  of  the  day  and  the  seasons,  beautiful  ? 
Morn  is  fair,  but  we  would  not  always  have  it 
morning.  Noon  is  brilliant,  but  the  wearied 
senses  crave  repose,  as  from  the  long  excite 
ment  of  an  Arctic  summer.  Evening,  with 
her  placid  moon  through  the  chequering 
branches,  disguises  every  blemish,  bathes  the 
simplest  architecture  in  a  flood  of  silver  light, 
and  makes  the  vine-clad  cottage,  and  the  an 
tique  column,  alike  beautiful. 

Even  though  it  should  chance  to  be  winter, 
yet  shrink  not  to  come  forth,  with  a  heart  to 
admire  and  love ;  for  through  the  bare  trees, 
the  silver  queen  of  heaven  looks  down  more 
clearly,  and  the  untrodden  snow-hills  rejoice 
in  her  beam,  and  amid  the  pure,  blue  ether, 
the  stars  multiply,  each  giving  secret  sweet- 
voiced  welcome  to  the  soul  that  is  soon  to 
rise  above  their  spheres. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


"  And  now,  behold,  your  tender  nurse,  the  air, 
And  common  neighbor,  that  with  order  due 

Whene'er  you  breathe,  doth  in  accordance  move 
Now  in,  now  out,  in  time  and  measure  true ; 

And  when  you  speak,  so  well  the  art  she  loves 
That  doubling  oft,  she  doth  herself  renew ; 

For  all  the  words  that  from  your  lips  repair 

Are  but  the  countless  tricks  and  turnings  of  the  air." 

SIR  JOHN  DA  VIES. 

THE  friendship  of  the  elements  for  man  is 
beautiful.  To  inspire  his  frail  fabric  with 
vitality,  to  warm,  to  refresh,  and  finally  to 
cover  it  when  it  sleeps  the  dreamless  sleep, 
are  their  kind  and  perpetual  services.  Each 
of  these  "ministering  particles,"  have  in  their 
turn,  won  eloquent  praise. 

Zoroaster   and   his   followers   deified    the 


AIR.  67 

subtle  Fire,  in  which  they  recognized  the 
great  vivifying  principle  of  the  universe. 
Pliny,  and  other  ancient  philosophers,  ap 
plauded  the  pervading  love  of  the  Earth  for 
her  offspring,  which  like  a  watchful  mother, 
fed  and  clothed  the  creature  of  the  dust,  and 
lulled  his  latest  sorrow  in  her  bosom.  Water, 
has  been  the  favorite  of  the  moderns,  who 
have  discovered  in  it  new  affinities  with 
health,  and  almost  uncontrollable  agencies 
in  the  realm  of  nature.  Our  own  simple 
remarks  will  be  confined  to  the  remaining 
element  of  Air,  wrhich  the  quaint  poet  at  their 
head,  made  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
since,  a  chosen  theme  for  his  verse. 

It  may  not,  indeed,  be  subjugated  by  man 
to  such  varieties  of  servitude  as  some  of  its 
compeers,  yet  he  can  scarcely  exist  a  moment 
without  its  permission.  The  earth,  he  bur 
dens  with  palaces  and  pyramids,  the  pent 
fires  do  his  bidding,  and  his -ships  rule  the 
mountain- wave.  But  he  inflates  a  balloon, 
and  the  storm-cloud  overturns  it,  and  per- 


68  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

haps,  takes  the  life  of  the  headlong  aeronaut. 
In  his  reverie,  he  builds  a  castle  on  the  air, 
and  where  is  it  1 

Yet  this  imperious  and  impervious  element, 
the  master  of  his  life,  how  varied  and  earnest 
are  its  ministrations  for  his  welfare.  If  he 
will  systematically  combine  it  with  active 
exercise,  it  gives  him  strength  and  vigor.  Of 
this,  the  advanced  in  years,  seldom  are  suffi 
ciently  aware.  They  suffer  lassitude  to  steal 
over  them,  till  like  the  sleeper  among  Alpine 
snows,  they  arise  no  more.  A  daily  walk  or 
drive  in  the  open  air,  preserves  energy,  and 
quickens  the  tide  of  sympathy  for  the  living 
world. 

The  mother  country  gives  us,  in  this  respect, 
good  examples,  if  we  would  but  heed  them. 
Her  young  infants  are  sent  forth  in  the  fresh 
morning  air.  Her  little  ones  gambol  in 
the  lawns  and  parks.  Her  ladies  are  great 
pedestrians,  fearless  of  rain  or  cold.  Her 
gentlemen,  however  burdened  with  impor 
tant  concerns,  always  find  time  for  muscular 


AIR.  69 

action.  Even  those  who  have  reached  a 
patriarchal  age,  often  persevere  in  equestrian 
exercise,  that  elegant  form  of  recreation, 
which  more  than  any  other,  keeps  alive  the 
consciousness  of  manly  power  and  dignity. 

I  have  seen  in  my  own  country,  some 
striking  instances  of  the  protracted  power 
and  enjoyment  of  this  invigorating  exercise. 
Among  childhood's  unfading  sketches  of  my 
native  place,  is  the  figure  of  a  beautiful  old 
man  of  eighty-four;  Dr.  Joshua  Lathrop,  of 
Norwich,  Conn.,  who,  until  the  brief  illness 
that  preceded  dissolution,  took  daily  eques 
trian  excursions,  withheld  only  by  very  in 
clement  weather.  Methinks,  I  clearly  see 
him  now,  his  small,  well-knit,  perfectly  up 
right  form,  mounted  upon  his  noble,  lustrous 
black  horse,  readily  urged  to  an  easy  canter, 
his  servant  a  little  in  the  rear.  I  see  the 
large,  fair,  white  wig,  with  its  depth  of  curls, 
the  smartly  cocked  hat,  the  rich  buckles  at 
knee  and  shoe,  and  the  nicely  plaited  ruffles, 
over  hand  and  bosom,  that  in  those  days 


70  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

designated  the  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 
Repeated  rides  in  that  varied  and  romantic 
region,  were  so  full  of  suggestive  thought  to 
his  religious  mind,  that  he  was  led  to  con 
struct  a  good  little  book,  in  dialogue  form,  on 
the  works  of  nature,  and  nature's  God,  enti 
tled,  "The  Father  and  Son,"  which  we 
younglings  received  with  great  gratitude 
from  its  kind-hearted  author;  juvenile  works 
not  being  then  so  numerous  as  to  be  slightly 
prized.  His  quick,  elastic  step  in  walking, 
his  agility  in  mounting  and  dismounting  his 
steed,  as  well  as  his  calm,  happy  tempera 
ture,  were  remarkable,  and  a  model  for 
younger  men. 

But  it  is  not  necessary  thus  to  turn  to  the 
far-off  past,  for  examples  of  perseverance  and 
grace,  in  this  exhilarating  exercise.  Only 
a  few  months  since,  I  saw  the  venerable 
Colonel  White,  of  Danbury,  Conn.,  then  in 
his  eighty-third  year,  on  horseback,  at  the 
imposing  ceremonies  connected  with  the  pub 
lic  erection  of  a  monument  to  the  memory  of 


AIR.  71 

General  David  Wooster,  the  revolutionary 
patriot  and  martyr.  Amid  thousands  that 
thronged  the  streets,  he  was  observed  passing 
and  re-passing,  at  an  early  hour,  to  the  lofty 
Cemetery  Hill,  engaged  in  some  preliminary 
arrangements  for  the  splendid  masonic  rites 
that  were  to  mark  the  burial  of  the  fallen 
brave.  As  the  long  procession  moved  on, 
with  civic  and  military  pageantry,  his  spirited 
animal  took  fright  at  the  unfurling  of  a  banner, 
when  the  octogenarian  rider  (to  whom  he  was 
a  stranger,  having  given  up  his  own  horses 
for  the  services  of  the  day)  managed  and 
controlled  him  with  a  serene  self-possession 
and  perfect  skill,  which  few  men  in  the 
prime  of  their  strength  could  have  surpassed 
or  equalled. 

To  those  who  have  not  habituated  them 
selves  to  equestrian  exercise,  a  daily  walk  in 
the  open  air,  not  so  far  extended  as  to  involve 
weariness  or  fatigue,  is  salutary  even  in  ex 
treme  old  age.  To  connect  these  excursions 
with  a  definite  object,  either  the  cherishing 


72  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

of  friendly  intercourse,  the  sight  of  an 
interesting  prospect,  edifice  or  institution, 
or  the  dispensing  some  comfort  to  the  abode 
of  poverty,  adds  decidedly  to  their  happy 
physical  influence. 

Of  Isaac  T.  Hopper,  the  benevolent  Quaker, 
who  till  his  eighty-first  year,  continued  his 
daily  researches  through  the  streets  of  New 
York,  on  errands  of  mercy,  with  such  pro 
verbial  activity,  it  was  said,  "he  would 
scarcely  allow  the  drivers  to  stop  for  him,  at 
ascending  or  descending  from  their  vehicles. 
Few  ever  passed  him  without  asking  who  lie 
was ;  for  not  only  did  his  primitive  dress, 
broad-brimmed  hat,  and  antique  shoe-buckles, 
attract  attention,  but  the  beauty  and  benevo 
lence  of  his  face,  were  sure  to  fix  the  eye  of 
ordinary  discernment.  He  was  a  living  tem 
perance  lecture,  and  those  who  desire  to 
preserve  good  looks,  need  not  ask  a  more 
infallible  recipe  than  that  sweet  temper  and 
active,  overflowing  benevolence  which  made 
his  countenance  so  pleasing  to  all." 


AIR.  73 

Peregrine  White,  the  first-born  Saxon  in 
New  England,  the  lone  baby  of  Cape  Cod, 
who  opened  his  eyes  ere  the  tossing  May 
flower  touched  Plymouth  Rock,  trod  with 
firm  step,  until  his  death  at  eighty-four,  the 
sands  of  Marshfield,  taking  with  unshrinking 
breast,  deep  draughts  of  the  bleak  sea-air. 
His  eldest  daughter,  Sarah,  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Young,  of  Scituate,  Mass.,  inherited 
his  hardihood,  and  love  of  the  open  air,  and 
retained  an  unusual  degree  of  health  and 
mental  activity,  till  the  advanced  age  of 
ninety-two.  Peregrine  White,  over  whose 
honored  remains,  a  monument  is  soon  to  be 
raised,  served  the  colony  with  fidelity,  both 
in  civil  and  military  offices.  "  He  continued," 
say  the  ancient  records,  "  vigorous  and  of  a 
comely  aspect  to  the  last,"  battling  the  sharp 
breezes  of  a  rock-bound  shore,  while  monarch 
after  monarch,  reared  in  the  luxury  of  palaces, 
fell  from  the  throne  of  the  parent  realm. 

King  James,  the  pedant,  found  a  tomb, 
King  Charles  at  Whitehall  bled; 


74  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

Stout   Cromwell  held  a  twelve  years'  rule, 

And   slumber'd  with  the  dead ; 
The  second  Charles,  with  gibe  and  jest, 

His  royal  realm  survey'd ; 
The   second  James  in   panic   haste, 

Fled  from  the   wreck    he  made ; 
William  and  Mary,  hand  in  hand, 

Their  sceptre's  sway  sustain'd ; 
Queen  Anne,  the  last  of  Stuart's  line, 

In  pomp   and  splendor  reign'd : 
Seven  sovereigns,  from  old  Albion's  throne, 

Stern  Death,  the  spoiler,  swept, 
While  still  his  course  erect  and  firm, 

New  England's  patriarch  kept. 

Frequent  open  communion  with  the  at 
mospheric  air,  if  not  an  absolute  necessity  of 
our  being,  seems  an  essential  condition  of 
vigorous  health.  The  pursuits  that  promote 
that  intercourse,  such  as  horticultural,  or 
floricultural,  it  is  therefore  desirable  to  cul 
tivate. 

Once  on  inquiring  for  an  aged  man  at  his 
door,  a  bright-eyed  boy  said, 

"My  grandfather  has  gone  out  on  his 
morning-walk.  I  love  to  have  him  go,  be- 


AIR. 


75 


cause   he   always  comes  back   pleasant  and 
happy." 

The  child  had  gotten  the  true  philosophy 
of  the  case.  We  met  the  silver-haired  friend 
returning  with  a  freshened  cheek,  and  a  smile 
as  if  he  rejoiced  in  the  sweet  air,  and  in  Him 
who  gave  it.  A  kind  word  had  he  ever  for 
all,  and  so  he  said  cheerfully, 

"  I  have  just  set  up  a  banner,  to  wave  in 
the  breeze,  when  I  am  dead." 

It  seems  he  had  been  transplanting  a  shade- 
tree,  of  a  species  often  destined  to  attain  con 
siderable  size. 

"The  soil  was  not  congenial,"  he  added, 
"  so  I  had  it  removed  for  an  area  of  three  or 
four  feet,  and  stepped  into  the  pit  myself,  to 
place  the  roots  and  delicate  fibres  at  ease  in 
their  new  bed.  I  sprinkled  at  first,  the  pul 
verized  earth  and  rich  compost  over  them, 
while  my  man  added  water  gradually,  tread 
ing  down  the  surface  firmly,  as  much  as  to 
say  to  the  new  comer,  'keep  at  home,'  and 
finishing  with  a  cavity  around  the  trunk,  as 


76  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

a   casket   to   hold   such   pearl- drops   as   the 
clouds  may  see  fit  to  give." 

Perceiving  that  his  practical  remarks  were 
listened  to  with  interest,  he  kindly  pro 
ceeded, 

"I  caused  the  body  and  principal  boughs 
to  be  bathed  in  soap-suds,  and  rubbed  with 
a  coarse  cloth,  to  refresh  it  hydropathically 
after  the  trial  of  leaving  its  old  home,  and 
before  the  high  winds  of  winter  come,  shall 
have  stones  laid  around  to  keep  the  roots 
from  being  shaken  and  troubled.  My  wife 
takes  an  interest  in  these  things.  I  love  to 
have  her  hold  the  tree  in  its  place,  when  I 
transplant  it.  I  fancy  it  is  more  likely  to 
grow,  and  get  a  blessing,  if  her  hand  has 
been  on  it.  We  planted  a  tree  at  the  birth 
of  all  our  children.  Perhaps,  we  shall  set 
out  a  grove,  before  we  die." 

The  animated  countenance  of  the  aged 
speaker,  reminded  me  of  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  Sir  Walter  Scott  used  to  expatiate  on 
the  "  exquisite  pleasures  of  planting."  The 


AIR.  77 

greater  part  of  the  noble  trees  at  Barley- 
Wood,  were  placed  there  by  the  hand  of  the 
venerable  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  and  a  cabinet- 
table,  which  she  prized,  and  often  pointed 
out  to  the  attention  of  visitants,  was  inlaid 
with  small  diamond-shaped  pieces  of  wood, 
from  different  trees  of  her  own  rearing. 
Those  who  in  early  life  rejoiced  in  the  cul 
ture  of  flowers,  their  own  emblem  of  hope 
and  beauty,  might  with  propriety  in  later 
years,  transfer  this  care  to  the  nurture  of 
fruit  and  shade  trees,  those  types  of  bounty 
and  beneficence ;  acceptable  parting  gifts  to 
mankind,  as  well  as  to  the  birds  of  the  air, 
who  make  their  nests  "  and  sing  among  the 
branches." 

To  those  whose  infirmities  preclude  the 
pleasure  of  active  exercise  out  of  doors,  there 
still  remain  restricted  forms  of  fellowship  with 
the  renovating  air,  which  it  is  important  to  se 
cure.  The  invalid  lady  who  perseveres  as  far 
as  possible  in  her  daily  ride,  notwithstanding 
lassitude  or  debility  tempts  to  the  indulgence 


78  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

of  repose,  does  not  lose  her  reward.  The 
blessed  element,  thus  solicited,  sustains  the 
worn  frame,  and  swejeps  away  many  of  the 
morbid  fancies  and  groundless  fears  that  dis 
ease  engenders. 

A  lady,  who  was  not  able  to  bear  the 
fatigue  of  systematic  riding,  told  me  she  had 
maintained  some  degree  of  vigor,  and  perhaps, 
resisted  pulmonary  tendencies,  by  a  brief  yet 
systematic  intercourse  with  the  morning  air, 
for  a  short  time  through  her  window.  Open 
ing  it,  and  wrapping  herself  in  a  shawl,  if  the 
current  proved  too  fresh,  she  inhaled  deep 
draughts,  holding  her  breath  until  the  minute 
vessels  of  the  lungs  were  saturated  with  air, 
and  then  casting  it  off,  by  throwing  out  the 
arms  to  expand  the  chest. 

Mrs.  Emma  Willard,  of  Troy,  in  that  re 
markable  treatise  of  hers,  "On  the  motive 
powers  that  produce  the  circulation  of  the 
blood,"  thus  describes  a  course  by  which 
she  has  been  enabled  long  to  persist  in  the 
preparation  of  those  learned  and  elaborate 


AIR. 


79 


works  which  have  given  her  so  high  a  rank 
among  American  writers.  After  speaking  of 
her  care  to  preserve  an  equal  and  moderate 
degree  of  warmth,  during  the  cold  seasons, 
she  says, 

"  In  the  morning,  I  usually  exercised  about  an  hour,  in 
accordance  with  some  housekeeping  habits.  During  the 
day,  I  took  exercise  once  in  two  hours..  Letting  down  the 
upper  sash,  and  facing  the  current  of  fresh  air,  I  began 
moderately,  increasing  my  exercise  until  it  became  for  a 
few  moments  violent,  stepping  backward  and  forward  to 
keep  my  face  to  the  window,  and  moving  my  arms  in  a 
manner  to  expand  the  chest.  Then,  as  the  quick,  deep 
breathing  came  on,  and  the  inspirations  of  air  were  as 
refreshing  as  water  from  a  cool  spring  in  summer,  I 
checked  my  exercise  to  give  full  play  to  the  respiratory 
organs,  and  when  I  had  breathed  the  pure  air  till  I  was 
satisfied,  closed  the  window,  sat  down  and  wrapped  my 
cloak  around  me,  to  make  for  a  few  minutes  longer,  breath 
ing  my  chief  employ.  The  additional  garment  kept  the 
heightened  temperature  which  exercise  had  given,  from 
passing  off  by  evaporation,  and  I  sat  down  to  my  writing, 
with  fresh  blood  in  my  brain  and  hand,  and  with  a  warmth 
far  more  genial  than  that  of  a  furnace  heat.  After  dinner, 
I '  slept  awhile,'  and  then  employed  myself  in  reading ; 
and  after  tea,  completed  the  old  rhyme  by  'walking  a 


80  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

mile.'  In  the  evening,  I  thus  found  myself  as  vigorous 
for  writing  as  in  the  morning,  and  often  wrote  several 
hours  before  retiring." 

As  the  result  of  this  system,  she  states, 
that  at  the  end  of  three  years  and  a  half, 
during  which,  especially  in  the  winter,  she 
labored  from  twelve  to  fourteen  hours  a  day, 
in  study  and  writing,  she  had  better  health 
than  at  the  commencement  of  these  severe 
toils.  This  philosophical  and  Christian  care 
of  her  physical  welfare,  has  doubtless  been 
repaid  in  the  uncommon  preservation  of 
those  energies,  which  from  early  youth  were 
developed  in  the  noble  profession  of  a  teacher 
and  pioneer  in  the  field  of  education.  More 
than  five  thousand  of  her  own  sex,  have  been 
under  her  instruction,  and  in  every  State  of 
our  Union,  they  lovingly  remember  her.  It 
is  a  source  of  satisfaction  to  her  friends,  that 
now,  in  her  sixty-eighth  year,  she  should  be 
making  her  second  tour  in  Europe,  with  a 
bright  spirit,  and  much  of  the  lingering  come 
liness  of  her  early  prime,  cheered  also  by  that 


AIR  81 

appreciation  in  foreign  lands,  which  she  has 
so  well  merited  in  her  own. 

Air,  whose  free,  loving  embrace,  greeteth 
every  one  who  cometh  into  the  world,  should 
be  gratefully  welcomed  until  they  go  out  of 
it.  Painful  contrast  has  taught  its  value  to 
the  pining  sufferer  in  the  fever- wards  of  some 
crowded  hospital,  and  to  the  pale  prisoner  in 
his  grated  cell.  The  captives  in  the  hideous 
"  donjon-keeps'"  of  the  feudal  times,  or  the 
wretched  victims  in  the  Black  Hole  at 
Calcutta,  terribly  tested  the  worth  of  that 
gift  to  which  we  are  too  often  culpably 
indifferent. 

I  hope  to  be  excused  for  any  minute  or 
common-place  detail,  which  may  have  occur 
red  in  this  chapter,  and  for  having  written 
con  amore  of  what  has  seemed  to  me  an  im 
portant  adjunct,  if  not  an  essential  element 
of  that  priceless  possession,  "mens  sane,  in 
corpore  sa?ia." 

But  this  subtle  element  of  air,  so  powerful 
over  our  physical  and  mental  organization, 


82  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

hath  it  aught  to  do  with  moral  structure,  or 
spiritual  welfare  ?  Modified  by  eloquence, 
it  rules  the  multitude  of  minds;  swelling 
into  music,  it  stirs  up  passionate  admiration; 
wrought  into  words  of  compassion,  it  heals 
the  broken  in  heart;  breathing  from  the  soul 
of  piety,  it  quickens  the  soul  of  others,  as  by 
the  spirit  of  the  Lord. 

Whom  see  we  on  yonder  couch  ?  One, 
whose  work  on  earth  is  finished.  Air  is 
about  to  forsake  him.  The  lungs  collapse. 
He  is  lifeless. 

Hath  he  then  taken  final  leave  of  the  air  ? 
No.  In  the  form  of  words  here  uttered,  of 
deeds  that  sprang  from  those  words,  it  shall 
confront  him  at  the  judgment.  Of  words 
which  he  hath  spoken,  air  shaped  into 
sound; — of  deeds  which  he  hath  done,  air 
shaped  into  action ; — must  he  give  account. 

Let  us  therefore,  dear  friends,  as  long  as 
we  are  dwellers  in  the  body,  beware  how  we 
use  this  wondrous  element  of  air,  lest  that  on 


AIR.  83 


which  we  have  never  laid  our  hand,  should 
fearfully  confound  us,  when  the  "  books  are 
opened,  and  the  dead,  small  and  great,  stand 
before  God." 


CHAPTER    VII. 


"  This  is  the  place.     Stand  still,  my  steed, 

Let  me  review  the  scene, 
And  summon  from  the  shadowy  Past, 

The  things  that  once  have  been  : 
For  Past  and  Present  here  unite, 

Beneath  Time's  flowing  tide, 
Like  footprints  hidden  by  a  brook, 

But  seen  on  either  side." 

LONGFELLOW. 

GERMANY,  where  the  domestic  anniversa 
ries  are  the  most  pleasantly  cherished,  is  dis 
tinguished  by  a  healthful  growth  of  domestic 
happiness.  The  return  of  the  marriage-day, 
of  the  births  of  children,  grandchildren,  and 
especially  of  the  silver-haired  grandparents, 
are  seasons  of  fond  and  fervent  congratula 
tion. 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  85 

III  that  country,  the  Golden  Bridal,  as  it  is 
called,  or  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  mar 
riage-day,  is  marked  by  ceremonies  peculiarly 
striking  and  national.  Preparations  for  a  do 
mestic  festival  are  made,  and  the  rooms  richly 
adorned  with  flowers.  The  venerable  pair, 
arrayed  in  their  best  garments,  and  sur 
rounded  by  their  children  and  near  relatives, 
receive  visitors  and  congratulations  as  if  about 
to  begin  life  anew.  This  sentiment  pervades 
in  some  measure  the  whole  entertainment. 
Wedding  gifts  are  brought,  and  mingled  with 
them  are  notes  of  love  and  good  wishes, 
bursting  forth,  as  the  German  heart  is  wont 
to  do,  into  strains  of  poetry. 

A  recent  traveler,  Mr.  R.  S.  Willis,  has  thus 
graphically  described  a  scene  of  this  nature, 
which  he  was  permitted  to  witness. 

"  The  venerably  youthful  pair  sate  side  by  side,  in  two 
great  arm-chairs,  the  very  picture  of  mellow  and  serene 
old  age.  Those  capacious  chairs  were  also  among  the 
gifts,  having  been  exquisitely  embroidered  by  fair  hands. 
Suspended  above  them,  hung  their  portraits,  taken  indeed, 
8* 


86  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

at  a  much  earlier  period,  but  which  seemed  not  half  so 
beautiful  in  their  youthful  lineaments,  as  the  venerable 
heads  which  now,  in  the  calm  Indian  summer  of  life,  rose 
beneath  them.  From  two  large  vases  below,  on  either 
side  of  the  portraits,  sprang  two  vigorous  shoots  of  living 
ivy,  ascending  and  enwreathing  them,  and  forming  a  kind 
of  triumphal  arch  over  the  couple  beneath,  whose  accom 
plishment  of  fifty  years  of  such  unclouded,  exemplary 
married  life,  might  well  be  regarded  as  a  triumph,  and  as 
such  be  celebrated." 

Then  follows  an  enumeration  of  the  pres 
ents,  many  of  which  were  costly,  for  the 
aged  bridegroom  having  been  a  composer 
and  teacher  of  music,  had  instructed  some 
pupils  of  wealth  and  rank,  who  vied  with 
each  other  on  this  occasion,  in  testifying  their 
affectionate  regard.  A  wreath  of  laurel  was 
thrown  over  the  snowy  locks  of  the  patriarch, 
and  one  of  myrtle  placed  on  the  head  of  his 
companion,  by  a  fair  young  girl  of  the  Rhine, 
an  affianced  bride,  who  in  her  kiss  besought 
the  blessing  of  one  who  had  so  long  beautified 
that  "  holy  estate "  upon  which  she,  as  a 
novice,  was  about  to  enter. 


DOMESTIC      ANNIVERSARIES.  87 

After  the  dinner,  where  two  long  tables 
were  filled  by  the  descendants  and  guests,  a 
deputation  of  the  musical  pupils  assembled 
in  an  adjoining  apartment,  to  cheer,  by  the 
melody  of  voice  and  instrument,  the  heart  of 
their  old  master,  and  his  friends. 

"  No  sooner,"  continues  the  narrator,  "  had  he  recogni 
zed  the  performers,  and  the  tones  of  his  own,  early  devo 
tional  music,  than  lifting  the  little  velvet  cap  which  always 
covered  his  head,  his  silver  locks  floating  out,  and  raising 
his  glistening  eyes  to  God,  to  whom  these  solemn  strains 
were  addressed,  he  seemed  for  a  moment  overcome  with 
gratitude  to  Him." 

In  our  own  land,  these  sacred  household 
eras  are  sometimes  regarded,  though  with  less 
of  romantic  accompaniment.  An  instance  of 
the  quiet  observance  of  the  sixtieth  anniver 
sary,  I  have  heard  described,  a  rare  occur 
rence  in  this  world  of  mortality.  The  age  of 
both  the  parties  exceeded  fourscore,  yet  their 
forms  were  unbowed ;  there  was  even  a  lin 
gering  of  early  comeliness,  and  that  smile  of 
the  spirit  which  gathers  depth  and  meaning 


88  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

from  long  knowledge  of  this  life,  and  firm 
hope  of  a  better.  They  had  entered  in  the 
bloom  of  youth,  the  conjugal  relation,  and 
"commended  it  in  the  sight  of  all  men," 
by  an  example  of  stedfast  affection,  and 
amiable  virtues.  The  children  of  three  gen 
erations  surrounded  them  with  affectionate 
reverence,  and  in  the  arms  of  one  bright-eyed 
young  mother,  was  the  germ  of  a  fourth, — a 
rose-bud  within  a  rose.  Among  the  antique 
things  which  were  preserved  and  exhibited, 
were  the  small  salver  with  which  they  com 
menced  house-keeping,  and  the  very  same 
little  cups  of  transparent  china,  in  which 
the  young  wife,  threescore  years  before,  had 
poured  tea  at  her  first  hospitalities.  Warm 
words  of  greeting  cheered  this  festival,  and 
a  fair  table  of  refreshments,  while  another 
was  spread  with  love-tokens,  and  gifts  of 
friendship.  Among  them  was  a  simple 
offering,  yet  of  singular  significance ;  a  small 
parallelogram  of  the  purest  white  marble, 
wrought  into  a  double  watch-case,  and  sur- 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  89 

mounted  in  the  centre,  by  a  cross  of  the 
same  material.  In  the  cavities,  lined  with 
crimson  velvet,  reposed  the  two  watches 
of  the  aged  pair,  the  golden  links  of  their 
chains  intertwined  and  enwreathing  the  cross. 
There  were  the  monitors  and  measurers  of 
time,  long  used,  but  soon  to  be  needed  no 
more,  and  the  symbols  of  their  own  undying 
love,  clasping  the  prop  that  could  never  fail 
or  forsake  it. 

Heartfelt  cheerfulness  marked  this  occa 
sion,  yet  nothing  that  could  war  with  the 
prayer  and  hymn  which  begun  and  closed  it, 
for  so  many  of  the  descendants  shared  in  the 
piety  of  their  honored  ancestors,  that  such 
worship  was  in  unison  with  their  aspirations 
and  joys.  Sixty  years  to  have  walked  hand 
in  hand,  helpful  and  loving,  on  their  appointed 
way  over  mountain  and  flood,  and  through 
gardens  wherein  were  sepulchres,  lending  the 
shoulder  to  each  other's  burdens,  and  keeping 
God's  sunbeam  bright  in  the  soul;  to  have 
impressed  the  precepts  of  a  Redeemer  on  the 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


young  creatures  who  came  into  life  under  the 
shadow  of  their  tree  of  love,  and  to  become 
themselves  more  and  more  conformed  to 
"the  example  of  His  great  humility,"  is  a 
victory  not  only  to  be  admired  on  earth,  but 
approved  in  Heaven. 

A  pleasant  custom  is  it  to  remember  the 
birth-days  of  our  coevals,  and  of  those  older 
than  ourselves.  A  few  words  of  congratula 
tion,  a  few  cheering  wishes  for  the  future, 
convincing  them  that  they  are  neither  forgot 
ten  nor  disregarded,  will  be  of  more  real 
value  than  costly  gifts.  Affectionate  referen 
ces  to  the  path  in  which  they  have  walked, 
and  the  home  toward  which  they  draw  near, 
aid  in  giving  strength  for  their  remaining 
pilgrimage. 

It  is  true,  that  to  prolonged  years,  funeral 
anniversaries  multiply.  Many  of  our  way- 
marks  are  tombstones.  We  may  render 
there,  the  offering  of  a  strewn  flower,  and  a 
faithful  tear.  Yet  the  tribute  should  be  in 
silence,  between  God  and  our  own  soul,  for 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  91 

we  need   not   sadden   the    living   with   the 
ghosts  of  our  buried  joys. 

Still,  these  "  oaks  of  weeping,"  may  yield 
a  salutary  influence.  The  poet  has  well  said, 
that  he  best  "  mourns  the  dead  who  lives  as 
they  desire."  The  return,  both  of  their  na 
tivity  and  departure  may  be  made  serviceable 
to  the  living,  if  we  then  give  new  vigor  to 
their  example,  continue  their  good  works,  or 
complete  their  unfinished  characters.  I  had 
a  friend  who  consecrated  the  birth-day  of  the 
loved  ones  who  had  gone  before,  by  some 
labor  in  their  favorite  field  of  benevolence,  or 
in  that  sphere  of  charitable  effort,  which  he 
knew  they  would  have  approved  had  it  been 
presented  to  them.  The  heart  of  some  sad 
orphan,  or  of  some  lonely  widow,  was  made 
glad,  some  cell  of  sickness  entered,  as  by  an 
angel  of  mercy,  the  page  of  knowledge  spread 
for  ignorance,  and  salvation  on  mission-wings 
sent  to  those  wrho  sate  in  the  shadow  of 
death. 

Was   not   the    melody   of  such  gratitude 


92  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

heard  in  heaven  1  Was  it  not  a  memorial 
meet  for  glorified  spirits  ?  Touched  it  not 
their  pure  brows  with  a  new  smile,  that  their 
entrance  into  high  Heaven's  bliss,  should 
have  annual  record  of  praise  and  thanksgiving 
on  earth? 

"  Again  returns  the  day,"  says  the  mourn 
ful  mother  to  her  heart,  "  in  which  my  darling 
child,  the  light  of  my  eyes,  went  down  into 
silence.  The  very  hour  draws  nigh,  when 
for  the  last  time  his  eyes  beheld  and  blessed 
me,  and  his  hand  would  fain  have  once  more 
clasped  mine.  Ah !  how  faint  was  its  tremb 
ling  pressure ;  its  chill  entered  into  my  soul. 

"  Many  charities  did  he  love ;  for  his  sake 
will  I  cherish  them.  He  felt  for  the  toil- 
worn  sailors,  'mounting  up  to  the  heavens, 
going  down  again  to  the  depths,  their  souls 
melted  because  of  trouble.'  I  will  send  a 
donation  to  the  good  men  who  have  combined 
to  shelter  them,  and  teach  them  the  way  to 
Heaven. 

"He  pitied  those  from  whose  dim  eyes  the 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  93 

beautiful  things  of  creation  were  shut  out. 
The  poor  blind  shall  be  made  glad  through 
him,  this  day. 

"  How  his  eye  kindled  with  varying  emo 
tion,  as  he  read  in  his  young  boyhood  of  the 
mutiny  in  the  ship  Bounty, — of  the  open  boat 
in  which  Bligh  and  his  fellow-sufferers  doled 
out  the  bullet's  weight  of  bread,  and  the  few 
water-drops  so  long, — and  of  the  Crusoe  set 
tlement  on  Pitcairn's  island,  from  w^hence  as 
good  may  spring  out  of  evil,  now  rises  the 
Sabbath  worship  of  a  little  Christian  commu 
nity.  A  token  of  his  remembrance  shall  go 
forth  to  that  lone  oasis  of  the  Pacific. 

"  How  he  loved  little  children.  When  he 
was  himself  a  child,  he  w^shed^to  give  every 
destitute  one,  food  and  a  garment,  and  a  book. 
The  orphan  institution  shall  be  reminded 
through  my  gifts,  of  his  birth-day.  And  if  my 
heart  should  single  out  any  onejfrom  that 
number,  to  provide  for,  to  watch  over,  and  to 
guide  on  life's  future  way  with  maternal  coun 
sels,  I  know  It  would  be  pleasing  to  the 


94  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

departed,  for  in  such  things  he  ever  took  de 
light. 

"  He  revered  the  old  and  gray-headed? 
however  poor  and  despised.  I  will  seek 
them  out  this  day,  in  their  desolate  abodes, 
and  put  into  their  withered  hands,  his  alms, 
and  speak  such  kind  words,  as  shall  bring  joy 
like  a  sunbeam,  over  their  furrowed  brows. 
And  when  they  would  fain  express  their  grat 
itude,  I  will  say,  '  Thank  not  me !  I  have 
done  it  for  his  sake  I— for  his  sake.' ' 

So,  the  mother  was  comforted  for  her  son, 
and  found  that  solace  from  his  birth-day  in 
heaven,  which  it  had  never  given  her  while 
he  dwelt  in  tents  of  clay. 

But  for  us,  who  having  passed  far  on  our 
journey,  and  lost  many  friends,  are  tempted 
to  linger  long  among  the  graves,  it  is  pecu 
liarly  desirable,  that  cheering  anniversaries 
should  have  free  scope,  and  predominate. 
We  had  rather  shed  a  sunbeam  than  a  mid 
night  chill.  Let  us  render  the  birth  of  every 
new  year,  and  each  return  of  the  season  of 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  95 

our  dear  Redeemer's  nativity,  a  time  of  joy 
to  every  heart  within  the  sphere  of  our  influ 
ence,  not  overlooking  the  lowliest  servant,  or 
the  humblest  child.  It  is  better  to  be  harm 
less  finger-posts,  pointing  to  paths  of  innocent 
happiness,  than  flaming  swords  to  fright  away 
the  traveler  from  Eden. 

Pleasant  mirth,  and  amusing  recollections 
of  earlier  days,  are  medicinal  to  the  old,  and 
not  uninteresting  to  younger  auditors.  Per 
haps  the  following  original  Valentine,  which 
has  never  before  been  published,  may  serve 
to  illustrate  the  sprightliness  of  mind  that 
sometimes  lingers  amid  declining  years. 

"'Tis  more  than  threescore  years  and  ten, 

Our  life's  allotted  span, 
Since  first  in  youthful,  happy  days, 

Our  friendship  true  began. 
'Tis  more  than  threescore  years  and  ten, 

Since  as  a  joyous   child, 
I  played  with  you  on  Stratford  Green, 

In  many  a  frolic  wild. 

As  I  look  back  upon  those  years, 

Threescore  and  ten  and  five, 
Of  all  the  mates  we  numbered  then, 

But  we  two  are  alive. 


96  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

We  two,  of  all  that  happy  band, 
Of  sportive  girls  and  boys, 

Who  wept  together  childish  griefs, 
Or  smiled  o'er  childish  joys. 

And  we're  far  down  the  vale  of  years, 

And  time  is  fleeting  fast, 
Yet  I  would  be  a  child  once  more, 

And  live  again  the  past 
Years  seventy-five  !  how  thrills  my  heart, 

As  memory  bears  me  back, 
To  tread  again  with  buoyant  steps, 

My  girlhood's  sunny  track. 

But  in  life's  retrospect  I  see, 

Full  many  a  saddened  scene, 
For  life  has  not  been  all  a  play, 

On  dear  old  Stratford  Green. 
We've  drank,  dear  friend,  its  mingled  cup, 

Of  sorrow  and  of  joy. 
Since  I  was  but  a  sportive  girl, 

You  a  free-hearted  boy. 

We  both  were  blest  with  many  friends, 

How  few  are  left  alive  ! 
The  dearly  loved  have  passed  away, 

And  yet  we  still  survive. 
We  still  survive,  and  it  may  be 

A  year,  perhaps  a  day, 
When  like  the  loved  ones  gone  before, 

We  too,  shall  pass  away. 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  97 

God  grant,  that  in  life's  parting  hour,     ^ 

Our  toils  and  labors  done, 
We  may  go  gently  to  our  rest, 

As  sinks  yon  setting  sun. 
When  we  were  young,  were  stirring  times, 

The  age  of  iron  men, 
Who  rung  the  trumpet's  warlike  shout, 

From  every  hill  and  glen ; 

Who  stood  for  country  and  for  home, 

For  liberty  and  life ; 
'  God  and  the  right,'  their  battle-cry, 

They  conquered  in  the  strife. 
'Tis  true,  we  were  but  children  then, 

But  we  remember  well, 
How  many  a  heart  was  desolate, 

How  many  a  patriot  fell. 

For  oft,  the  parent  on  his  knee, 

Would  seat  his  lisping  child, 
And  tell  strange  tales  of  battle  scenes, 

And  legends  stern  and  wild; 
And  oft  our  childish  cheeks  were  blanch'd, 

And  childish  tears  would  flow, 
As  wonderingly  we  listened  then, 

To  deeds  of  blood  and  wo. 

But  joy  best  suits  the  youthful  heart, 

Its  pulse  is  light  and  free, 
And  so,  as  it  has  ever  been, 

It  was,  with  you  and  me. 

9* 


98  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

/   • 

And  still  your  boyhood's  sports  went  on 
My  girlhood's  laughter  rung, 

For  in  those  days  of  sternest  deeds, 
Both  you  and  I  were  young. 

Do  you  remember,  dear  old  friend, 

The  simple  village  school, 
Where  Mr.  Ayres  taught  little  folks, 

To  read  and  write  by  rule  ? 
Children  were  timid,  teachers  stern, 

In  those  our  youthful  days, 
When,  copy-book  in  hand,  we  went, 

Trembling,  to  seek  his  praise. 

And  when  you  won  the  wished-for  boon, 

And  I  stood  sadly  by, 
You  often  caused  a  ray  of  hope, 

To  light  my  downcast  eye. 
No  matter  what  the  teacher  said, 

Fresh  from  your  generous  breast, 
Came  to  my  ear  the  flattering  words, 

That  mine  was  always  best 

Do  you  remember  that  I  sent 

You  then,  a  Valentine  ? 
Fine  sentiment  perhaps  it  lacked, 

But  love  breathed  in  each  line. 
It  seems  but  yesterday,  these  five 

And  seventy  years  ago, 
You  then  had  owned  no  other  belle, 

And  I  no  other  beau. 


DOMESTIC     ANNIVERSARIES.  99 

I  in  return,  a  ribbon  got, 

Bright  with  true  love's  own  hue, 
And  much  it  pleased  my  girlish  taste, 

For  'twas  the  bonniest  blue. 
But  childhood  quickly  passed  away, 

And  hearts  were  lost  and  won, 
And  you  soon  owned  another  love, 

And  I,  another  John. 

With  him,  I  journeyed  many  a  year, 

Happy  and  blest  were  we, 
He  lived  to  see  his  bairnies'  bairns, 

Prattling  upon  his  knee. 
We  climbed  '  thegither  up  the  hill,' 

But  down  alone  I  go, 
And  soon, '  thegither  at  its  foot,' 

With  him  I'll  lay  me  low. 

Yet  not  alone,  for  loving  hearts, 

Are  left  in  children  dear, 
Who  in  my  downward  path  of  life, 

Smooth  each  declining  year. 
And  oft,  to  glad  my  aged  eye, 

My  children's  children  come, 
And  merry  laughter  rings  again, 

In  my  old  happy  home. 

For  you,  sole  mate  of  earliest  days, 

I've  cast  a  backward  eye, 
Along  the  changing  track  of  time, 

As  swift  it  hurried  by. 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 

And  forward  may  we  dare  to  look  ? 

Another  opening  year 
Hath  dawned  upon  us,  and  its  close, 

May  scarcely  find  us  here. 

One  may  be  taken,  one  be  left, 

It  may  be  I,  or  you, 
Still,  while  we  live,  dear  early  friend, 

Shall  live  our  friendship  true. 
My  years  now  number  eighty-eight, 

And  yours  are  eighty-nine, 
Yet  once  more,  as  in  days  of  yore, 

Accept  my  Valentine." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


fatriotir 


"  The  brave,  great  spirits  -who  -went  down  like  suns, 
And  left  upon  the  mountain-tops  of  death, 
A  light  that  made  them  lovely." 

A.  SMITH. 

WHAT  chronology  is  to  history,  are  dates 
to  the  memories  of  actual  life.  They  give 
adhesiveness  and  force,  to  impressions  that 
might  else  be  desultory,  an'd  perishable. 

What  mathematics  are  to  the  mind,  they 
may  also  be  to  the  heart,  adding  stability 
and  power  to  its  better  sentiments  and  affec 
tions.  Sweet  and  salutary  is  it,  to  review 
the  varied  events  of  God's  providence,  with 
regard  to  ourselves  or  others,  on  the  return 
of  their  respective  anniversaries.  By  thus 
deepening  the  imagery,  and  refreshing  the 


102  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

colors  on  our  moving  diorama,  we  may  renew 
a  grateful  sense  of  His  goodness,  perhaps 
make  more  permanent  the  benefits  of  His 
discipline. 

National  anniversaries  give  fervor  to  the 
patriotism  of  a  people.  I  have  seen  the 
whole  heart  of  England  stirred  up  on  the 
fifth  of  November,  from  the  white-robed 
priest,  and  the  chanting  choir  in  the  cathe 
drals,  to  the  merry  urchins  let  loose  from 
school,  who  scarcely  knew  whether  to  de 
nounce  or  laud  the  "  Gunpowder  plot,"  that 
had  given  them  a  holiday.  Yet  a  truer  fel 
lowship  and  stronger  nationality  sprang  from 
this  general  sympathy  of  gratulation. 

The  birth  of  our  own  country,  so  peculiar 
in  itself,  and  so  fraught  with  blessings  to  her 
children,  should  be  warmly  and  reverently 
regarded.  That  event  might  be  so  embalmed 
and  brought  forward  year  by  year,  as  to  per 
petuate  the  blessings  which  first  flowed 
from  it. 

The  fourth  of  July,   1776,  is  a  date  that 


PATRIOTIC     RECOLLECTIONS.  103 

every  American  remembers,  from  the  snows 
of  Wisconsin,  to  the  Floridian  orange -groves, 
from  the  sounding  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  to 
the  new  found  clime  of  gold.  A  wanderer 
perchance,  on  Chimborazo,  or  in  the  Eternal 
City,  or  among  the  tropic  isles,  or  daring,  with 
frost-bound  sails,  the  ices  of  the  Arctic  zone, 
he  bares  his  head  at  his  country's  birth-day, 
and  his  heart  quickens  with  their  proud  joy, 
who  of  old  exclaimed,  "I  am  a  Roman  citi. 
zen"  So  may  it  ever  be,  while  God  shall 
hold  in  his  protecting  hand,  our  hallowed 
Union. 

An  aged  friend,  whose  birth  was  on  the  con 
secrated  fourth  of  July,  1776,  never  failed  till 
the  close  of  life  to  rejoice  in  that  circumstance, 
as  a  heritage  of  glory.  That  this  anniversary 
should  have  been  marked  by  the  transition 
to  another  world,  of  two  of  the  venerable 
signers  of  our  Declaration  of  Independence, 
each  having  been  dignified  by  the  highest 
office  in  our  country's  power  to  bestow,  adds 
almost  a  mysterious  sacredness  to  its  historic 
interest. 


104  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

John  Adams,  whose  far-reaching  mind  saw 
the  incipient  rights  of  his  native  land,  when 
in  the  chrysalis  of  her  colonial  state,  she  un 
derstood  them  not, — who  with  boldness  and 
enthusiasm,  unfolded  and  demanded  them, — 
to  whom,  next  to  Washington,  she  first 
accorded  the  honor  of  her  chief  magistracy, 
lay  at  the  age  of  ninety,  on  his  dying  couch, 
at  his  fair,  paternal  estate  in  Quincy,  (Mass.,) 
where  he  first  drew  breath,  surrounded  by 
objects  of  his  fondest  love. 

It  was  a  holy  sight 
To  look  upon  that  venerable  man, 
Remembering  all  his  honors,  all  his  toils, 
And  knowing  that  his  earth-receding  grasp, 
Was  on  the  anchor  of  eternal  life. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  of  July,  1826.  Rais 
ing  his  head  from  the  pillow,  the  last  bright 
ness  gathering  in  his  eye,  he  said,  "  It  is  the 
glorious  Fourth.  God  bless  it.  God  bless 
you  all.  This  is  a  great  and  glorious  day." 

And  so,  he  resigned  his  spirit. 

On  the  same  day,  Thomas  Jefferson,  his 
friend  and  compeer  in  toils  and  counsels  for 


PATRIOTIC     RECOLLECTIONS.  105 

a  nation's  liberty,  the  third  President  of  these 
United  States,  at  his  Virginian  home  of  Mon- 
ticello,  which  he  had  beautified  by  taste  and 
hospitality,  received,  while  still  lightly  bear 
ing  the  burden  of  eighty-three  years,  that 
guest  who  cometh  but  once  to  the  children 
of  men.  It  was  his  fearless  pen,  rich  in 
varied  literature,  that  drafted  our  Declaration 
of  Independence : 

Forth  from  his  pen  of  might, 
Burst  that  immortal  scroll, 
Which  gave  a  living  soul, 

To  shapeless  clay ; 
It  said  "  Let  there  be  light," 
And  the  old  startled  realms  beheld  a  new-born  day. 

John  Adams,  among  his  latest  words,  had 
said,  "  Jefferson  survives."  Yet  almost  at  the 
same  hour  of  the  day  that  completed  the 
fiftieth  year  of  that  nation's  life,  the  beating 
of  whose  infant  pulse  they  had  counted  and 
registered,  both  those  great  men  expired. 
As  Solon  shrouded  his  head  and  departed, 
that  the  mystery  of  his  absence  might  add 
10 


106  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

efficacy  to  the  laws  he  had  established  for 
Athens,  they  gave  to  their  country's  first 
jubilee,  that  last  solemn  seal  which  death 
sets  on  love  and  patriotism. 

The  twenty-second  of  February,  the  birth 
day  of  Washington,  should  be  regarded  with 
demonstrations  of  national  enthusiasm  and 
gratitude.  Especially  should  they  who  stand 
most  in  proximity  to  those  tempestuous  times 
which  his  wisdom  helped  to  change  into  the 
broad  sunlight  of  freedom,  speak  of  the  vir 
tues  of  that  king  of  men,  to  those  who  are  in 
the  forming  period  of  life.  Not  as  a  warrior, 
would  wre  chiefly  commend  him;  that  was  a 
prominent  exigence  to  which  he  was  called 
by  Heaven,  and  in  which  he  conducted  nobly, 
but  we  press  on  the  imitation  of  those  who 
are  to  come  after  us,  his  disinterested  patriot 
ism,  his  patience  in  adversity,  his  unswerving 
truth,  his  wisdom  in  the  greatest  matters,  his 
just  attention  to  the  smallest,  the  punctuality 
of  his  dealings  with  all  men,  the  godlike  dig 
nity,  the  serene,  unostentatious  piety,  which 


PATRIOTIC      RECOLLECTIONS.  107 

made  a  more  perfect  balance  of  character 
than  has  appertained  to  any  hero  in  any  age. 

Another  approach  to  a  remarkable  coinci 
dence  of  dates,  is  the  death  of  the  venerable 
John  Quincy  Adams,  just  on  the  completion 
of  half  a  century  from  that  of  the  "  Pater 
Patrise,"  and  also  within  a  single  day  of  the 
anniversary  of  his  birth.  He  was  himself  the 
sixth  President  of  the  United  States,  and  the 
only  son  of  the  second  who  had  sustained 
that  honor.  Though  he  had  reached  the  age 
of  eighty-four,  he  still  kept  his  seat  among 
the  representatives  of  our  nation,  at  Wash 
ington,  watching  with  keen  eye  and  unim 
paired  intellect,  whatever  concerned  her 
vitality  or  renown.  It  was  on  the  morning 
of  February  21st,  1848,  that  he  appeared  in 
the  lofty  halls  of  Congress,  with  his  usual 
vigor,  and  gave  in  a  clear,  emphatic  voice, 
his  vote  on  the  opening  question. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  cry,  "  Mr.  Adams  is 
dying!"  Throngs  rushed  to  the  side  of  that 
"old  man  eloquent,"  and  bore  him  fainting 


108  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

to  a  sofa  in  an  inner  apartment.  Partially 
recovering  from  insensibility,  he  said  slowly, 
"  This  is  the  end  of  earth." 

Then,  he  added  an  assurance  of  his  calm 
ness  and  preparation,  and  relapsed  into  silent 
repose,  until  the  evening  of  the  twenty-third, 
when  the  country  whom  he  had  so  long 
served,  mourned  at  the  tidings  that  he  was 
no  more. 

Thus  fell  nobly  at  his  post,  and  in  the  man 
ner  that  his  patriot  heart  might  have  chosen, 
this  man  of  stainless  integrity,  of  universal 
acquirements,  of  diplomatic  training  from 
early  boyhood,  and  one  of  the  few  in  whom 
precocity  of  talent  continues  to  advance 
through  the  w7hole  of  life,  and  to  ripen  amid 
the  snows  of  age. 

But  not  in  the  splendor  of  the  fame  of 
statesmen  or  chieftains,  would  we  lose  the 
memory  of  others,  who,  in  humbler  stations, 
gathered  firmly  around  the  endangered  cra 
dle  of  our  common  country.  Some  of  these 
were  our  own  sires.  By  the  hearth-stone, 
they  have  told  our  listening  infancy,  of  toils 


PATRIOTIC      RECOLLECTIONS.          109 

and  privations,  bravely  and  cheerfully  borne. 
It  becomes  us  to  impress  them  on  our  chil 
dren,  who  amid  the  luxurious  indulgences  of 
a  great  and  prosperous  land,  can  scarcely 
imagine  the  hardships  and  dangers  by  which 
its  freedom  was  wrought  out. 

Standing  as  we  do,  literally  as  well  as 
politically,  on  the  "isthmus  of  a  middle 
state,"  it  seems  incumbent  on  us  to  deliver 
unimpaired  to  a  future  age,  such  records  as 
the  Past  may  have  entrusted  to  our  care. 
The  liberty  which  was  enkindled  upon  our 
own  altars,  amid  blast  and  tempest,  should 
be  guarded  as  a  vestal  flame.  The  voice  of 
the  actors  in  those  "  times  that  tried  men's 
souls,"  speaks  through  us.  Let  us  strive  that 
it  may  enkindle  pure  love  in  some  young 
heart,  to  that  native  land,  which,  though  it 
has  indeed  gained  a  proud  seat  among  the 
nations,  has  still  the  same  need  of  protection 
from  their  virtues,  that  it  once  had  from  their 
fathers'  swords. 

The  patriotism  which  we  would  fain  cher- 
10* 


110  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

ish,  by  keeping  in  life  and  freshness  the 
events  of  our  earlier  history,  struck  deep  and 
true  root  in  the  hearts  of  the  softer  sex,  amid 
the  storms  of  revolution.  The  privations 
which  they  contentedly  and  bravely  endured, 
should  not  be  forgotten.  In  many  a  lowly 
home,  from  whence  the  father  was  long  sun 
dered  by  a  soldier's  destiny,  Woman  stifled 
the  sigh  of  her  own  hardships,  that  she  might 
by  her  firmness,  breathe  new  strength  into 
her  husband's  heart,  and  be 

"  An  undergoing  spirit,  to  bear  up 
Against  whate'er  ensued." 

How  often,  during  the  long  war,  did  the 
mother  labor  to  perform  to  her  little  ones, 
both  the  father's  duties,  and  her  own,  having 
no  refuge  in  her  desolate  estate,  and  unresting 
anxiety,  save  the  Hearer  of  Prayer. 

I  have  often  reflected  on  a  simple  narration, 
which  a  good  and  hoary-headed  man,  who 
had  passed  the  bounds  of  fourscore,  once 
gave  me. 


PATRIOTIC      RECOLLECTIONS.  Ill 

"My  father  was  in  the  army,  during  the  whole  eight 
years  of  the  Eevolutionary  "War,  at  first  as  a  common 
soldier,  afterward  as  an  officer.  My  mother  had  the  sole 
charge  of  us,  four  little  ones.  Our  house  was  a  poor  one, 
and  far  from  neighbors.  I  have  a  keen  remembrance  of 
the  terrible  cold  of  some  of  those  winters.  The  snow  lay 
so  deep  and  long,  that  it  was  difficult  to  cut  or  draw  fuel 
from  the  woods,  or  to  get  our  corn  to  mill,  when  we  had 
any.  My  mother  was  the  possessor  of  a  coffee-mill.  In 
that,  she  ground  wheat,  and  made  coarse  bread,  which  we 
ate  and  were  thankful.  It  was  not  always,  that  we  could 
be  allowed  as  much  even  of  this,  as  our  keen  appetites 
craved.  Many  is  the  time  that  we  have  gone  to  bed  with 
only  a  drink  of  water  for  our  supper,  in  which  a  little 
molasses  had  been  mingled.  We  patiently  received  it,  for 
we  knew  our  mother  did  as  well  for  us  as  she  could,  and 
hoped  to  have  something  better  in  the  morning.  She  was 
never  heard  to  repine,  and  young  as  we  were,  we  tried  to 
make  her  lovely  spirit  and  heavenly  trust,  our  example. 
"When  my  father  was  permitted  to  come  home,  his  stay 
was  short,  and  he  had  not  much  to  leave  us,  for  the  pay 
of  those  who  achieved  our  liberties,  was  slight,  and  irreg 
ularly  rendered.  Yet  when  he  went,  my  mother  ever 
bade  him  farewell  with  a  cheerful  face,  and  not  to  be  anx 
ious  about  his  children,  for  she  would  watch  over  them 
night  and  day,  and  God  would  take  care  of  the  families  of 
those  who  went  forth  to  defend  the  righteous  cause  of  their 


112  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

country.  Sometimes  we  wondered  that  she  did  not  men 
tion  the  cold  weather,  or  our  short  meals,  or  her  hard 
work,  that  we  little  ones  might  be  clothed  and  fed  and 
taught.  But  she  would  not  weaken  his  hands,  or  sadden 
his  heart,  for  she  said  a  soldier's  lot  was  harder  than  all. 
We  saw  that  she  never  complained,  but  always  kept  in  her 
heart,  a  sweet  hope,  like  a  well  of  living  water.  Every 
night  ere  we  slept,  and  every  morning  when  we  arose,  we 
lifted  our  little  hands  for  God's  blessing  on  our  absent 
father,  and  our  endangered  country." 

The  principal  events  in  the  history  of  our 
native  land,  arranged  according  to  their  dates, 
would  be  profitable  to  us,  both  as  a  review, 
and  an  exercise  of  memory.  Thus  might  we 
with  more  variety  and  freshness,  impart  to 
the  young,  that  which  they  could  not  so  well 
gather  from  books,  details  of  the  self-sacrifice, 
the  courage  and  the  piety  which  God  recom 
pensed  with  the  life  and  liberty  of  a  nation. 
Thus,  might  we  perchance,  lift  a  banner,  slight, 
yet  not  powerless,  against  venality  and  luxury 
and  ambition,  those  banes  of  a  republic,  which 
pollute  the  pure  sources  of  patriot  health. 

The  diligent  formation,  and  regular  refer- 


PATRIOTIC     RECOLLECTIONS.  113 

ence  to  a  daily  list  of  dates  founded  on  uni 
versal  history,  is  a  salutary  habit.  Every  day 
in  the  year,  has,  doubtless,  more  than  one 
feature  of  distinction,  "if  men  would  carefully 
distil  it  out."  Though  not  an  historic  fact  of 
importance,  it  would  probably  bear  the  record 
of  the  birth  or  death  of  some  individual  whose 
biography  it  would  be  pleasant  to  review,  or 
impress  on  others.  For  if  an  ancient  writer 
has  truly  said,  that  "the  moral  beauty  on 
which  we  fix  our  eyes,  presses  its  own  form 
upon  our  hearts,  making  them  fair  and  lovely 
with  the  qualities  that  they  behold,"  the 
lives  of  the  great  and  good  must  be  profit 
able  to  hold  before  the  contemplation  of 
plastic  youth. 

Hints  derived  from  our  daily  list  of  anniver 
saries,  with  some  tact  in  avoiding  prolixity, 
might  be  rendered  valuable  to  the  young 
who  surround  us.  Let  us  hazard  any  asper 
sion  of  pedantry  that  might  chance  to  flow 
from  it.  Ridicule  of  that  sort,  should  be 
pointless  to  us.  If  through  adduced  illustra- 


114  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

tion  or  example,  we  may  be  made  the  medi 
um  of  implanting  some  great  truth  or  holy 
precept,  which  shall  bear  fruit  for  our  coun 
try  after  we  are  dead,  let  us  neither  shrink 
or  loiter ;  for  the  time  is  short. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


If  a  diamond  was  ours,  at  the  opening  of  day, 
Because  it  is  eve,  shall  we  cast  it  away  ? 

ACCOMPLISHMENTS  for  old  people!  Yes. 
And  why  not  ?  It  would  seem  as  if  the 
world  thought  they  had  no  right  to  them. 
Whereas,  having  been  obliged  to  part  with 
many  personal  attractions,  there  is  the  more 
need  that  they  should  take  pains  to  make 
themselves  agreeable. 

Every  other  period  of  life  has  its  peculiar 
prospect  of  improvement,  and  its  prescribed 
modes  of  promoting  it.  What  care  is  ex 
pended  to  teach  childhood  the  theory  of 
language.  Through  ignorance,  grammatical 
error,  and  solecism,  it  steadily  advances, 


116  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

nothing  daunted,  or  discouraged.  What 
efforts  are  put  forth  to  induce  the  young  to 
make  the  most  of  any  attainment  they  may 
possess,  and  strenuously  to  acquire  those  in 
which  they  are  deficient.  And  this  is  right. 
Maturity  has  its  beautiful  occupations,  its  hal 
lowed  responsibilities,  and  an  array  of  resist 
less  motives  to  excel  in  each. 

Nothing  seems  expected  of  the  aged  but  to 
put  themselves  decently  away  into  some  dark 
corner,  and  complete  the  climax  of  the  great 
poet,  "  second  childishness,  and  mere  obliv 
ion."  Let's  see  about  that.  Why  not  adopt 
the  suggestion  of  another  poet,  to  "  live  while 
we  live  ? " 

In  looking  about  us  for  some  relief,  or  loop 
hole  through  which  to  escape,  forgive  me,  if 
I  hint  what  at  first  view  might  seem  trifling, 
the  preservation  of  a  cheerful  countenance, 
and  a  neat,  becoming  costume.  Inattention 
to  these  points  is  prone  to  mark  those  who 
feel  themselves  of  little  consequence  in  soci 
ety,  and  the  effect  is  to  render  them  still 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  117 

more  disregarded.  "  A  merry  countenance," 
said  Jeremy  Taylor,  "  is  one  of  those  good 
things  which  no  enemy  or  persecutor  can 
take  away  from  me." 

On  the  subject  of  apparel,  whose  import 
ance,  ladies  may,  at  least,  be  ready  to  admit, 
Madam  Hancock,  the  dignified  consort  of  the 
President  of  our  First  Congress,  used  to  say, 
"  I  can  never  forgive  any  person  in  good  soci 
ety  for  not  being  well  dressed,  or  for  thinking 
of  themselves  after  they  are  dressed."  To  a 
very  advanced  age,  she  was  herself,  a  fine 
illustration  of  her  theory. 

The  stimulant  of  example,  also,  as  well  as 
of  precept,  is  strenuously  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  young,  in  their  different  departments 
of  study  and  accomplishment.  For  instance, 
in  the  science  of  music,  requiring  the  daily, 
laborious  practice  of  years,  emulation  is  con 
tinually  exerted.  More  than  one  fair  aspirant 
has  cheered  her  long  session  at  the  piano,  by 
recalling  what  was  said  of  the  captivating 

Ann  Boleyn,  that  "  when  she  composed  her 
11 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


hands  to  play,  and  her  voice  to  sing,  it  was 
joined  with  such  sweetness  of  countenance 
that  three  harmonies  concurred." 

What  a  striking  picture  !  Though  waning 
years  may  preclude  from  this  combination 
of  three  harmonies,  yet  be  it  known  to  all 
whom  it  may  concern,  that  there  have  been 
old  people  who  retained,  and  even  made 
progress  in  what  the  world  styles  accomplish 
ments.  I  have  had  the  honor  of  being  ac 
quainted  with  ladies,  who  after  the  age  of 
eighty,  excelled  in  the  various  uses  of  the 
needle,  executing  embroidery  by  the  evening 
lamp,  and  sitting  so  erect,  that  younger  per 
sons,  more  addicted  to  languid  positions, 
asserted  that  "  it  made  their  shoulders  ache 
to  look  at  them."  I  am  in  possession  of 
various  articles,  both  useful  and  ornamental, 
wrought  by  the  hands  of  such  venerable 
friends,  and  doubly  precious  for  their  sakes. 

The  widow  of  our  great  statesman,  Alex 
ander  Hamilton,  to  many  other  feminine  ac 
complishments,  continued  to  a  great  age,  the 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


119 


exquisite  uses  of  the  needle,  and  still,  (I  be 
lieve,)  at  ninety-eight,  is  remarked  for  the 
ease  and  courtesy  with  which  she  receives 
and  entertains  her  guests. 

Mrs.  Madison  was  distinguished,  not  only 
while  in  the  presidential  mansion,  where  she 
won  the  heart  of  every  visitant,  but  through 
out  a  long  life,  by  one  of  the  most  kindly  and 
queenly  natures  that  ever  belonged  to  woman. 
So  fully  developed  and  unchangeably  sus 
tained  were  her  social  powers,  and  brilliance 
of  conversation,  that  after  the  age  of  eighty, 
I  have  often  seen  her  in  the  elegant  assem 
blages  at  the  court  of  our  nation,  address  to 
every  person  some  appropriate  remark,  or 
touch  some  train  of  familiar  thought,  that 
would  make  the  embarrassed  at  ease,  or  the 
happy,  happier.  She  was  unwilling,  even  for 
hours,  to  indulge  in  the  repose  of  a  seat,  lest 
some  one  should  escape  her  notice,  whom  she 
might  cheer,  or  gratify.  Especially,  when 
children  were  present,  she  never  forgot,  or 
overlooked  the  youngest,  but  with  admirable 


120 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


tact  had  something  to  say,  which  they  might 
take  with  them  as  a  pleasant  memory  for 
future  years. 

In  the  high  and  rare  attainment  of  elegant 
reading,  I  have  never  known  any  lady  so  con 
spicuous  to  advanced  age,  as  the  mother  of  the 
late  Bishop  Wainwright.  Her  distinct  articu 
lation,  and  perfect  emphasis,  made  listening  a 
pleasure,  and  drew  out  the  full  beauty  of  the 
thought  which  they  rendered  vocal.  To  her 
also  belongs  the  high  praise  of  having  formed, 
in  early  boyhood,  the  habits  and  style  of  elocu 
tion,  of  her  distinguished  and  lamented  son. 

Many  precious  pictures  have  I,  in  that  niche 
of  memory's  gallery,  where  the  hoar-frost 
sparkles.  One  of  these,  I  must  indulge  my 
self  in  transferring.  It  is  entwined  with  the 
scenery  of  my  own  native  place.  I  see  again, 
a  tall,  dignified  lady,  whose  elastic  step,  age 
failed  to  chain.  High  intellect  was  hers,  the 
stronger  for  being  self-taught,  and  a  place 
among  the  aristocracy,  that  she  might  the 
more  plainly  show  the  beauty  of  gentle  man- 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 


ners  arid  a  lowly  heart.  In  the  varieties  of 
conversation,  which,  without  pedantry  or  dis 
play,  unveil  extensive  learning  and  suggestive 
thought,  I  have  never  known  any  of  my  own 
sex,  her  superior;  I  was  about  to  have  said, 
her  equal.  Fabrics  of  use  and  of  taste,  she 
wrought  and  ornamented,  and  with  her  deli 
cate  scissors,  imitated  the  beauties  and  won 
ders  of  the  animal  and  floral  world .  Children, 
she  especially  charmed  by  these  efforts  of 
her  skill,  as  well  as  by  her  great  descriptive 
powers,  ever  keeping  in  view  their  instruction 
as  well  as  pleasure.  Clustering  around,  they 
listened,  holding  their  breath,  lest  they  should 
lose  a  word.  She  also  delighted  them'  with 
the  sweetness  of  her  ancient  and  sacred  songs, 
for  to  the  verge  of  fourscore  and  ten,  her  mu 
sical  powers  remained,  a  source  of  wondering 
gratification  to  all  around.  Even  now,  those 
swan-like  melodies  that  enchanted  my  earli 
est  years,  revisit  me,  rich,  clear,  and  softened 
by  the  lapse  of  years,  as  if  borne  over  un 
troubled  waters. 
11* 


122  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

The  time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of  her  ex 
cellent  knowledge  in  all  that  appertained  to 
the  domestic  sphere;  as  it  also  would  to 
mention  other  ladies  in  my  own  New  Eng 
land,  who  in  the  delicate  elements  of  that 
great  feminine  attainment,  good  housekeep 
ing,  yielded  neither  energy  or  skill  to  the 
frosts  of  seventy  years,  but  dexterously  con 
tinued  to  touch  every  clock-work  spring,  on 
which  the  order  and  comfort  of  a  blessed 
home  depend. 

I  would  venture  to  number  among  accom 
plishments,  though  the  classification  may  be 
deemed  rather  antiquated,  those  simpler  forms 
of  feminine  industry  which  promote  comfort 
and  respectability.  A  lady  of  eighty-four,  in 
one  of  the  smaller  towns  of  Connecticut,  took 
great  pleasure  in  these  unostentatious  em 
ployments.  During  one  year,  she  completed, 
at  intervals  of  time,  with  her  quiet  knitting 
needles,  forty-eight  pairs  of  stockings,  beside 
constructing  from  fragments  of  calico,  two 
large  bed-quilts,  one  of  them  containing  more 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  123 

\ 

than  three  thousand  pieces,  symmetrically 
arranged.  The  fabrics  were  principally  for 
the  accommodation  and  relief  of  needy  per 
sons  ;  so,  that  with  the  peaceful  consciousness 
of  time  industriously  improved,  was  blent  the 
higher  satisfaction  of  benevolence  :  a  wise 
exchange  for  the  lassitude  and  morbid  sense 
of  uselessness  which  is  sometimes  suffered  to 
steal  like  a  canker  over  declining  years. 

It  would  be  quite  impossible  here  to  enu 
merate,  those  of  the  other  sex  whom  it  has 
been  my  privilege  to  know,  who  in  their 
various  departments  and  professions,  derived 
added  dignity  from  age ;  merchants,  whose 
mental  acuteness  time  seemed  to  have  re 
fined;  physicians,  whose  large  experience 
gave  such  confidence  to  the  sick  as  to  prove 
an  element  of  healing;  jurists,  whose  time- 
tried  judgments  were  as  beaten  gold;  divines, 
whose  silver  locks  were  a  talisman  to  the 
hearts  of  their  hearers;  statesmen,  whose 
eloquence  was  never  more  fervid  or  vigorous 
than  when  their  sun  went  down. 


124  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

A  gentleman,  whose  period  of  collegiate 
education  had  been  cut  short  by  the  absorb 
ing  toils  of  a  life  at  sea,  having  found  in 
advanced  years  a  haven  of  repose,  resumed 
with  zeal,  the  perusal  of  the  classics,  remark 
ing,  that  after  fourscore  he  had  been  led  deci 
dedly  to  prefer  them  to  his  native  tongue, 
which  was  "  so  easy  as  not  to  keep  the  mind 
awake."  I  have  often  found  him  deeply  en 
gaged  over  the  pages  of  Cicero,  or  Homer,  in 
the  original,  his  eye  brightening  at  every  gem 
of  genius,  and  his  florid  complexion  pure  with 
temperance,  reminding  one  of  Miss  Mitford's 
description  of  the  beauty  of  her  own  venera 
ble  father. 

A  genius  for  the  fine  arts,  we  sometimes 
see  evolved,  at  a  late  period  of  life.  This  has 
been  the  case  with  the  adopted  son  of  Wash 
ington,  George  W.  P.  Custis,  Esq.,  who  since 
the  age  of  seventy,  has  executed  a  series  of 
large  historical  paintings,  representing  prom 
inent  scenes  in  our  Revolution,  and  present 
ing,  in  various  attitudes,  the  Pater  Patrice, 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  125 

with  the  warmth  of  a  filial  pencil.  This  fine, 
self-taught  accomplishment,  is  associated  with 
one  of  earlier  acquisition,  that  of  music ;  and 
the  stirring  melodies  of  other  times,  which 
occasionally  echo  through  the  lofty  halls  of 
Arlington,  from  the  violin  of  their  master,  be 
tray  no  indication  that  the  frosts  of  fourscore 
have  already  settled  upon  his  temples. 

The  efforts  that  sustain  social  intercourse, 
and  the  attractions  that  adorn  it,  are  in  our 
Republic,  too  soon  laid  aside.  Of  these,  the 
gray-haired  seem  in  haste  to  absolve  them 
selves,  as  of  a  burden,  or  a  sin.  In  France, 
they  are  kept  in  constant  and  prosperous  ex 
ercise.  The  idea  of  being  superannuated, 
seems  not  there  to  have  entered  the  mind 
of  the  people.  The  aged  are  received  in 
mixed  society,  as  marked  favorites,  and  bear 
their  part  with  an  inextinguishable  naivete. 
Many  instances  of  this,  I  beheld,  with  admir 
ing  wonder.  One  evening,  in  particular,  I 
recollect  being  interested  in  watching  Isabey, 
the  celebrated  miniature  painter,  of  Paris, 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


who,  with  hair  like  the  driven  snow,  glided 
through  the  mazes  of  the  dance,  at  a  state 
ball  given  by  the  elegant  Marchioness  Lava- 
lete,  the  agility  of  his  movements  not  at  all 
impaired  by  more  than  eighty  years,  nor  the 
graceful  courtesy  with  which  he  delighted 
to  introduce  and  bring  into  notice,  his  fair, 
young  wife,  while  frequent  allusions  to  their 
home,  proved  how  affectionately  their  hearts 
turned  thither  amid  all  the  gaieties  of  fashion. 

Yet  it  is  not  in  mercurial  France  alone, 
that  men  "frisk  beneath  the  burden  of  four 
score."  The  philosophic  Socrates,  though 
not,  indeed,  at  quite  so  ripe  an  age,  used  to 
dance,  and  play  upon  the  lyre ;  one,  to  pre 
serve  his  physical  vigor,  and  the  other  to  tune 
and  elevate  his  mind  with  cheerfulness. 

Macklin,  after  he  had  numbered  a  full  cen 
tury,  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  in  the  char 
acter  of  the  Jew  Shylock,  held  his  audience 
in  absorbed  attention.  He  also  successfully 
occupied  himself  in  revising  and  remodelling 
his  own  dramatic  compositions. 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 

It  will  be  said  that  these  instances  are  ex 
ceptions,  rather  than  examples  that  we  may 
hope  to  reach.  Of  some,  this  is  true ;  but 
from  others  we  derive  encouragement  and 
hope.  If  at  the  age  of  eighty,  Cato  thought 
proper  to  go  to  school  to  learn  Greek,  why 
should  we  not  consider  ourselves  scholars,  as 
long  as  aught  remains  to  be  learned  ?  Yes, 
life  is  ever  a  school,  both  in  its  discipline  and 
its  aspirations.  Let  us  take  our  places  in  that 
class,  who  both  learn  and  teach.  We  will 
speak  of  the  manifold  goodness  of  God,  which 
we  have  so  long  tested,  and  strike  that  key- 
tone  of  praise,  whose  melody  will  be  perfected 
in  Heaven : — 

"  Yet  oh  !  eternity's  too  short, 
To  utter  all  His  praise." 

Among  the  highest  accomplishments  of 
age,  are  its  dispositions.  It  should  daily  cul 
tivate  the  spirit  to  admire  what  is  beautiful, 
to  love  what  is  good,  and  to  be  lenient  to  the 
faults  of  that  infirm  nature  of  which  all  are 


128  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

partakers.  As  sensual  pleasures  lose  their 
hold,  the  character  should  become  more  sub 
limated.  While  we  would  avoid  that  fixed 
ness  which  repels  new  impressions,  and  resists 
improvements  as  innovations,  let  us  seek  the 
accomplishment  of  an  active,  unslumbering 
benevolence. 

Dear  friends,  whom  I  love  better  for  the 
linked  sympathies  of  many  years,  do  some 
thing  to  be  remembered  when  you  are 
gone.  Let  your  words,  either  spoken  or 
written,  bring  forth  fruit  when  you  are  dead. 
Endow  a  school.  Open  a  fountain.  Plant  a 
tree.  Put  a  good  book  in  a  cottage,  or  a 
public  library.  It  was  a  beautiful  reply  of  a 
white-haired  man,  to  the  question  why  he 
should  trouble  himself  to  be  setting  out  a 
pear-tree,  who  could  scarcely  hope  to  taste 
its  fruits,  "Have  I  all  my  life  long,  eaten  from 
trees  that  the  dead  have  planted,  and  shall 
not  the  living  eat  of  mine  ? " 

Let  us  hold  to  the  spirit  of  progress,  and 
the  capabilities  of  improvement  of  this  im- 


ACCOMPLISHMENTS.  129 

mortal  nature,  as  long  as  it  sojourns  in  the 
flesh.  "There  is  no  reason,"  said  a  clear- 
minded  philosopher,  "why  we  should  not 
make  advances,  as  long  as  we  are  in  a  state 
of  probation." 

If  our  pilgrimage  is  almost  finished,  does 
that  create  a  need  to  forfeit  our  admira 
tion,  or  relax  our  pursuit  of  "  whatsoever  is 
fair,  lovely,  or  of  good  report  ? "  "  Excel 
sior,"  may  as  well  be  our  motto,  at  the  close, 
as  at  the  commencement  of  life's  journey. 

If  we  are  indeed,  so  near  the  Better  Land, 
as  to  catch  the  whispers  of  its  camp,  hear  we 
not,  in  a  great  voice,  as  of  many  harpers,  the 
inspiring  strain,  "  Forgetting  the  things  that 
are  behind,  reach  forth  unto  those  that  are 
before ! "  and  is  there  not  in  our  own  hearts, 
an  answering  chant,  as  of  antiphonal  music, 
"Not  as  though  we  had  attained,  or  were 
already  perfect.  But  we  follow  after." 


12 


CHAPTER   X. 


riiriUps  0f 


*'  Say  ye,  who  through  the  round  of  eighty  years 
Have  prov'd  life's  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears, 
Say,  is  there  not  enough  to  meekness  given, 
Of  light  from  reason's  lamp,  and  light  from  Heaven, 
To  teach  us  where  to  follow,  what  to  shun, 
Or  bow  the  head,  and  say,  God's  righteous  will  be  done  ?  " 

MRS.  BARBAULD. 

THE  motto  here  selected,  was  composed  by 
the  venerable  author,  after  she  had  passed  the 
bounds  of  fourscore.  In  her  well-regulated 
mind  there  was  no  disposition  to  disparage  the 
comforts  that  linger  around  the  later  stages 
of  human  life.  Why  should  this  ever  be  the 
case  ?  Many  of  its  enjoyments  have,  indeed, 
run  their  course;  their  lease  having  expired 
by  limitation  of  time.  Yet  others  remain, 


THE     PRIVILEGES     OF     AGE.  131 

the  birth-right  of  advanced  years,  which  it  is 
both  unjust  and  unwise,  not  to  appreciate. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  privileges  of  age. 
Has  it  in  reality,  any  inherent  honors,  emol 
uments,  or  immunities,  to  justify  such  an 
assumption  ? 

Originally,  it  was  in  possession  of  a  charter, 
sanctioned  by  divine  authority,  demanding 
reverence  for  the  hoary  head,  and  for  the 
counsel  of  those  to  whom  years  had  given 
wisdom.  Modern  times  have  modified  this 
distinction.  Our  own  republic  has  been  pro 
nounced  by  observant  foreigners,  deficient  in 
the  sentiment  of  respect.  Still,  among  well- 
trained  and  noble  natures,  there  will  be  ever 
a  disposition  to  honor  those  who  have  long 
and  well  borne  the  burdens  of  time,  and  a 
veneration  for  the  "  hoary  head,  if  found  in 
the  way  of  righteousness." 

Should  we  inquire  if  age  has  any  emolu 
ment,  we  are  reminded  of  the  wealth  of 
experience.  Are  not  the  whole  beautiful, 
ever-moving  world  of  the  young,  in  poverty 


132  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

for  the  want  of  it  ?  searching,  trying,  tasting, 
snatching  at  garlands  and  grasping  thorns, 
chasing  meteors,  embarking  on  fathomless 
tides,  and  in  danger  of  being  swallowed  up 
by  quicksands  1  The  aged,  through  toil  and 
hazard,  through  the  misery  of  mistake,  or  the 
pains  of  penitence,  have  won  it.  Safe  in  their 
casket,  are  gems  polished  by  long  attrition, 
and  gold-dust,  well-washed,  perchance,  in 
fountains  of  tears. 

"Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  for  it  bears  a  laden 

breast, 
Still,  with  sage  experience,  moving  toward  the  brightness  of  the 

west" 

Has  age  any  immunities  ?  Its  sources  of 
revenue  seem  to  be  negative  rather  than  pos 
itive.  It  has  probably  dissolved  partnership 
with  personal  vanity.  And  was  not  that  a 
losing  concern  ?  There  remains  no  conscious 
ness  of  beauty,  no  feverish  hope  of  admiration, 
no  undue  excitement  of  competition,  no  be 
wilderment  from  flattery,  to  put  out  of  sight 
higher  purposes,  or  exclude  more  rational 


THE     PRIVILEGES  =[OF    AGE.  133 

pleasures.  The  consequent  gain,  both  of 
leisure  and  quiet,  must  be  great.  Has  it  not 
also  a  respite  from  the  toils  of  money-getting, 
from  that  science  of  accumulation  which  is 
but  practical  slavery?  It  is  surely  time. 
Having  borne  the  yoke  for  many  years,  rising 
early,  and  late  taking  rest,  and  eating  the 
bread  of  carefulness,  it  would  be  desirable  to 
taste  the  sweets  of  such  enfranchisement, 
while  yet  "  the  lamp  holds  out  to  burn." 

In  age,  is  not  the  over-mastering  force  of 
the  passions  broken  ?  Is  it  as  irascible  at 
opposition  as  when  the  current  of  life  rushed 
fiercely  on,  battling  all  obstacles  with  the 
impetuosity  of  a  cataract  ?  Is  it  still  led  in 
blind  and  deep  captivity  as  of  yore,  by 

"Love,  Hope  and  Joy,  fair  Pleasure's  syren  train, 
Hate,  Fear  and  Grief,  the  family  of  Pain  ?  " 

If  a  more  serene  and  self-sustained  philoso 
phy  is  a  natural  concomitant  of  age,  is  it  not  a 
privilege  for  which  to  give  thanks  ? 

Yet  not  in  exemptions  alone,  do  the  advan- 
12* 


134  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

tages  of  the  aged  consist.  Have  they  not 
more  aid,  and  stronger  promptings  to  disinter 
estedness,  than  in  the  earlier  stages  of  their 
journey  ?  The  young  acquire  accomplish 
ments,  that  they  may  be  distinguished,  or 
admired;  the  old  strive  to  continue  agree 
able,  that  they  may  please  or  edify  others. 
The  man  of  mature  years  toils  to  achieve 
wealth,  as  a  means  of  influence  ;  the  study  of 
the  old  is,  or  should  be,  how  to  dispense  it. 
Their  business  is  to  shower  back  upon  the 
earth,  the  gifts  she  has  bestowed,  having  no 
further  expectation  from  her,  save  of  a  couch 
in  her  bosom.  Since  those  who  have  the 
slightest  admixture  of  self,  escape  countless 
discomforts  by  which  others  are  annoyed,  the 
aged  are  assisted  by  their  condition,  to  find 
that  happiness  which  is  more  independent  of 
"  things  that  perish  in  the  using." 

"  That  which  they  are,  they  are, 
Made  weak  by  time,  perchance,  but  strong  in  will, 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield." 

If  to  compensate  for  the  visible  losses  of 


THE    PRIVILEGES     OF     AGE.  135 

time,  there  are  correspondent  gains,  less  obvi 
ous,  but  still  secure,  it  concerns  all  to  under 
stand  their  amount,  that  they  may  be  able  to 
balance  the  books,  ere  the  Master  calleth  for 
an  account  of  their  stewardship.  An  ancient 
writer  has  well  remarked,  that  Nature,  after 
having  wisely  distributed  to  all  the  preceding 
portions  of  life,  their  peculiar  and  proper  en 
joyments,  can  scarcely  be  supposed  to  have 
neglected,  like  an  indolent  poet,  the  last  act 
of  the  human  drama,  and  left  it  destitute  of 
suitable  advantages. 

The  God  of  nature  has  decreed  to  every 
season  of  life,  its  inherent  happiness,  and 
fitness  for  the  end  it  was  intended  to  serve. 
In  spring,  fair  blossoms  glow  even  among  the 
grass-blades,  and  in  summer,  the  fruit-laden 
boughs  are  clothed  with  beauty.  Vigorous 
autumn  comes  with  his  reaping-hook,  and 
peaceful  age  awaiteth  the  Lord  of  the  harvest. 
Not  unmindful  of  its  privileges,  or  reluctant  to 
restore  the  mysterious  gift  of  life,  should  it 
watch  for  His  coming. 


136  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

Age  should  clothe  itself  with  love,  to  resist 
the  loneliness  of  its  lot.  Yet  it  sometimes 
cherishes  a  morbid  and  mistaken  conscious 
ness  that  it  no  longer  retains  the  power  of  con 
ciliating  affection.  It  has  been  beautifully  said 
that  "  the  heart  is  as  warm  after  life's  day's- 
work  is  over,  as  when  it  began ;  after  the  har 
ness  of  manhood  is  cast  off,  as  before  it  was  put 
on.  The  love  generally  felt  for  genial  and 
kindly  old  persons,  with  their  unselfish  sym 
pathies,  their  tried  judgment,  and  their  half- 
mournful  tenderness  toward  those  they  are 
soon  to  leave,  has  not  been  enough  remem 
bered  in  poetry.  Their  calm,  reliable  affec 
tion,  is  like  the  Indian  summer  of  friendship." 

The  aged,  especially  those  whose  conquest 
of  self  is  imperfect,  are  prone  to  under-rate 
the  advantages  that  remain.  Their  minds 
linger  among  depressing  subjects,  repining 
for  what  "time's  effacing  fingers"  will  never 
restore.  Far  better  would  it  be  to  muse  on 
their  privileges,  to  recount  them,  and  to  re 
joice  in  them.  Many  instances  have  I  wit- 


THE     PRIVILEGES      OF     AGE.  137 

nessed,  both  of  this  spirit,  and  the  want  of  it, 
which  left  enduring  impressions. 

I  well  remember  an  ancient  dwelling,  shel 
tered  by  lofty,  umbrageous  trees,  and  with 
all  the  appendages  of  rural  comfort.  A  fair 
prospect  of  hill  and  dale,  and  broad  river,  and 
distant  spire,  cheered  the  vine-covered  piaz 
zas,  through  whose  loop-holes,  with  the  sub 
dued  cry  of  the  steam-borne  cars,  the  world's 
great  Babel  made  a  dash  at  the  picture  with 
out  coming  too  near.  Traits  of  agricultural 
life,  divested  of  its  rude  and  sordid  toils, 
were  pleasantly  visible.  A  smooth-coated, 
and  symmetrical  cow,  ruminated  over  her 
clover-meal.  A  faithful  horse,  submissive  to 
the  gentlest  rein,  protruded  his  honest  face 
through  the  barn  window.  A  few  brooding 
mothers,  were  busied  with  the  nurture  of 
their  chickens,  while  the  proud  father  of  the 
flock,  told  with  a  clarion-voice,  his  happiness- 
There  were  trees,  whose  summer  fruits  were 
richly  swelling,  and  bushes  of  ripening  ber 
ries,  and  gardens  of  choice  vegetables.  Those 


138  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

who  from  the  hot  and  dusty  city,  came  to 
breathe  the  pure  air  of  this  sylvan  retreat, 
took  note  of  these  "creature-comforts,"  and 
thought  they  added  beauty  to  the  landscape. 

Within  the  abode,  fair  pictures  and  books 
of  no  mean  literature  adorned  the  parlors  ;  in 
the  carpeted  kitchen,  ticked  the  stately  old 
family-clock,  while  the  bright  dishes  stood  in 
orderly  array  upon  the  speckless  shelves. 
Visitants  could  not  but  admire  that  union 
of  taste  and  education,  which  makes  rural 
life  beautiful.  It  might  seem  almost  as  an 
Elysium,  where  care  would  delight  to  repose, 
or  philosophy  to  pursue  her  researches  with 
out  interruption.  But  to  any  such  remark, 
the  excellent  owner  was  wont  mournfully  to 
reply, 

"  Here  are  only  two  old  people  together. 
Our  children  are  married  and  gone.  Some 
of  them  are  dead.  We  cannot  be  expected 
to  have  much  enjoyment." 

Oh,  dear  friends,  but  it  is  expected  that 
you  should.  Your  very  statement  of  the 


THE     PRIVILEGES     OF    AGE.  139 

premises,  is  an  admission  of  peculiar  sources 
of  comfort. 

"  Two  old  people  together"  Whose  sympa 
thies  can  be  so  perfect  ?  And  is  not  sympa 
thy  a  source  of  happiness  ?  Side  by  side  ye 
have  walked,  through  joys  and  sorrows. 
You  have  tried  the  refiner's  fire,  that  fuses 
hearts  into  one.  You  have  stood  by  the 
grave's  brink,  when  it  swallowed  up  your 
idols,  and  the  iron  that  entered  into  your 
souls  formed  a  living  link,  that  time  might 
never  destroy.  Under  the  cloud,  and  through 
the  sea,  you  have  walked  hand  in  hand,  heart 
to  heart.  What  subjects  of  communion  must 
you  have,  with  which  no  other  human  being 
could  intermeddle. 

"  Two  old  people"  Would  your  experience 
be  so  rich  and  profound,  if  you  were  not  old  ? 
or  your  congeniality  so  entire,  if  one  was  old, 
and  the  other  young  ?  What  a  blessing  that 
you  can  say,  there  are  two  of  us.  Can  you 
realize  the  loneliness  of  soul  that  must  gather 
around  the  words,  "left  alone!"  How  many 


140  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

of  memory's  cherished  pictures  must  then  be 
viewed  through  blinding  tears  ?  how  feelingly 
the  expression  of  the  poet  adopted,  "  'tis  the 
survivor  dies  ? " 

" Our  children  are  married  and  gone" 
Would  you  have  it  otherwise  ?  Was  it  not 
fitting  for  them  to  comply  with  the  institution 
of  their  Creator  ?  Is  it  not  better  than  if  they 
were  all  at  home,  without  congenial  employ 
ment,  pining  with  disappointed  hope,  or  in 
solitude  of  the  heart  ?  Married  and  gone ! 
To  implant  in  other  homes,  the  virtues  they 
have  learned  from  you.  Perchance,  in  newer 
settlements  to  diffuse  the  energy  of  right 
habits,  and  the  high  influence  of  pure  princi 
ples.  Gone!  to  learn  the  luxury  of  life's  most 
intense  affections,  and  wisely  to  train  their 
own  young  blossoms,  for  time  and  for  eternity. 
Praise  God  that  it  is  so. 

"  Some  are  dead"  They  have  gone  a  little 
before.  They  have  shown  you  the  way 
through  that  gate  where  all  the  living  must 
pass.  Will  not  their  voice  of  welcome  be 


THE     PRIVILEGES     OF     AGE.  141 

sweet  in  the  skies  ?  Dream  ye  not  sometimes 
that  ye  hear  the  echo  of  their  harp-strings  ? 
Is  not  your  eternal  home  brought  nearer,  and 
made  dearer  by  them  ?  Praise  God. 

I  once  knew  an  aged  couple,  who  for  more 
than  sixty  years  had  dwelt  in  one  home,  and 
with  one  heart.  Wealth  was  not  theirs,  nor 
the  appliances  of  luxury,  yet  the  plain  house 
in  which  they  had  so  long  lived,  was  their 
own.  Humble  in  every  appointment,  that 
they  might  keep  free  from  debt,  they  were 
respected  by  people  in  the  highest  positions, 
for  it  was  felt  that  they  set  a  right  example 
in  all  things.  Every  little  gift,  or  token  of 
remembrance  from  friends,  and  all  who 
knew  them  were  friends,  awakened  the 
fresh  warmth  of  gratitude.  Though  their 
portion  of  this  world's  goods  was  small,  benev 
olence  being  inherent  in  their  nature,  found 
frequent  expression.  Always  they  had  by 
them,  some  book  of  slight  expense,  but  of 
intrinsic  value,  to  be  given  as  a  guide  to  the 

young,  the  ignorant,  or  the  tempted.     Cor- 
13 


142  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

dials  also,  and  simple  medicines  for  debility, 
or  incipient  disease,  they  distributed  to  the 
poor,  for  they  were  skillful  in  extracting  the 
spirit  of  health  from  herbs,  and  a  part  of  the 
garden  cultivated  by  their  own  hands,  was  a 
dispensary.  Kind,  loving  words  had  they  for 
all,  the  fullness  of  their  heart's  content,  brim 
ming  over  in  bright  drops,  to  refresh  those 
around. 

That  venerable  old  man,  and  vigorous,  his 
temples  slightly  silvered,  when  more  than 
fourscore  years  had  visited  them,  how  freely 
flowed  forth  the  melody  of  his  leading  voice, 
amid  the  sacred  strains  of  public  worship. 
His  favorite  tunes  of  Mear  and  Old  Hundred, 
wedded  to  these  simply  sublime  words, 

"  While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night," 

and 

"  Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow," 

seem  even  now  to  fall  sweetly,  as  they  did 
upon  my  childish  ear.  These,  and  similar 
ancient  harmonies,  mingled  with  the  devout 


THE     PRIVILEGES      OF     AGE.  143 

prayers  that  morning  and  evening,  hallowed 
his  home  and  its  comforts;  she,  the  loved 
partner  of  his  days,  being  often,  sole  auditor. 
Thus,  in  one  censer,  rose  the  praise,  which 
every  day  seemed  to  deepen.  God's  good 
ness  palled  not  on  their  spirits,  because  it  had 
been  long  continued.  They  rejoiced  that  it 
was  "new  every  morning,  and  fresh  every 
moment." 

By  the  clear,  wood-fire  in  winter,  sate  the 
aged  wife,  with  serene  brow,  skillfully  busy 
in  preparation  or  repair  of  garments,  as  per 
fect  neatness  and  economy  dictated;  while 
by  the  evening  lamp,  her  bright  knitting- 
needles  moved  with  quickened  zeal,  as  she 
remembered  the  poor  child,  or  wasted  inva 
lid,  in  some  cold  apartment,  for  which  they 
were  to  furnish  a  substantial  covering. 

In  the  later  years  of  life,  their  childless 
abode  was  cheered  by  the  presence  of  a 
young  orphan  relative.  She  grew  under 
their  shadow  with  great  delight,  conforming 
her  pliant  heart  to  their  wishes,  and  to  the 


144 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


pattern  of  their  godly  simplicity.  When 
they  were  seated  together,  she  read  to  them 
such  books  as  they  chose,  and  treasured  their 
Christian  counsel.  Her  voice  in  the  morning, 
was  to  them  as  the  carol  of  the  lark,  and  they 
seemed  to  live  again  a  new  life  in  her  young 
life.  She  was  to  them  "  like  the  rose  of  Sharon 
and  the  lily  of  the  valley." 

Love  for  the  sweet  helplessness  of  unfolding 
years,  seemed  to  increase  with  their  own 
advancing  age.  Little  children,  who  know 
by  instinct  where  love  is,  would  draw  near 
them,  and  stand  lamb-like  at  their  side. 
Thus  they  passed  on,  until  more  than  ninety 
years  had  been  numbered  to  them.  They 
were  not  weary  of  themselves,  or  of  each 
other,  or  of  this  beautiful  world.  Neither 
was  Time  wreary  of  bringing  them,  letter  by 
letter,  the  full  alphabet  of  a  serene  happiness, 
and  when  extreme  age  added  the  Omega, 
they  were  well-educated  to  begin  the  bliss 
of  Eternity. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


"  Their  age  was  like  a  second  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

AN  opinion  has  been  expressed  that  literary 
labors,  or  habitual  excursions  into  the  regions 
of  imagination,  are  adverse  to  the  continuance 
of  health,  or  even  the  integrity  of  intellect. 
Grave  charges,  truly !  and  examples  to  the 
contrary,  may  be  easily  adduced. 

Premature  death,  and  mental  declension, 
are  confined  to  no  profession  or  condition  of 
life.  Too  early,  or  undue  stress  laid  on  the 
organs  of  the  brain,  is  doubtless  fraught  with 
disastrous  consequences.  Still,  their  con 
stant,  and  even  severe  exercise,  may  comport 

both  with  physical  welfare  and  longevity. 
13* 


146  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

It  is  indeed,  true,  that  Swift  "expired  a 
driveller  and  a  show,"  but  not  until  he  had 
passed  seven  years  beyond  the  span  allotted 
to  human  life ;  and  the  amiable  author  of  the 
"Task,"  closed  his  pilgrimage  in  a  rayless 
cloud,  at  sixty-six;  and  Walter  Scott  sank 
at  sixty-one,  under  toils  too  ambitiously  pur 
sued  for  the  safe  union  of  flesh  with  spirit ; 
and  Southey,  whose  reckless  industry  pre 
cluded  needful  rest,  subsided  ere  sixty-eight, 
into  syncope  and  the  shadow  of  darkness; 
and  Henry  Kirke  White  faded  at  twenty-one, 
in  the  fresh  blossom  of  his  young  renown ; 
and  Byron  at  thirty-six,  rent  the  fiery  armor 
of  genius  and  of  passion,  and  fled  from  the 
conflict  of  life. 

Yet  Goethe,  unimpaired  by  the  strong 
excitements  of  imagination,  saw  his  eighty- 
second  winter;  and  the  sententious  architect 
of  the  "Night  Thoughts,"  reached  fourscore 
and  four ;  and  Voltaire,  at  the  same  period* 
was  still  in  love  with  the  vanity  of  fame ;  and 
Corneille  continued  to  enjoy  his  laurels  till 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  147 

seventy-eight ;  and  Crabbe,  at  an  equal  age, 
resigned  the  pen  which  had  sketched  with 
daguerreotype  minuteness  the  passing  scene. 
Joseph  Warton,  until  his  seventy-ninth  year, 
made  his  mental  riches  and  cheerful  piety 
sources  of  delight  to  all  around  him  ;  Charles 
Wesley,  on  the  verge  of  eighty,  called  his 
wife  to  his  dying  pillow,  and  with  an  inex 
pressible  smile,  dictated  his  last  metrical 
effusion;  and  Klopstock,  the  bard  of  the 
"Messiah,"  continued  until  the  same  period 
to  cheer  and  delight  his  friends.  Isaac  Watts, 
laid  down  his  consecrated  harp  at  seventy- 
four  ;  and  our  own  Trumbull,  the  author  of 
"  McFingal,"  preserved  till  eighty-two,  the 
bright,  clear  intellect,  whose  strains  had 
animated  both  the  camp  and  the  cottage. 
The  illustrious  Metastasio  detained  the  ad 
miring  ear  of  Italy,  until  eighty-four;  and 
Milton,  at  sixty-six,  opened  his  long-eclipsed 
eyes  on  "  cloudless  light  serene,"  leaving  to 
the  world  the  mournful  memories  of  "Lost 
Paradise,"  with  living  strains  of  heroic  and 


148  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

sublime  counsel.  Mason  was  seventy-two, 
ere  the  "  holy  earth,"  where  his  "  dead 
Maria"  slumbered,  admitted  him  to  share 
her  repose;  and  the  tender  Petrarch,  and 
the  brave  old  John  Dryden,  told  out  fully 
their  seventy  years,  and  the  ingenious  La 
Fontaine,  seventy-four ;  while  Fontenelle, 
whose  powers  of  sight  and  hearing  extended 
their  ministrations  to  the  unusual  term  of 
ninety-six  years,  lacked  only  the  revolution 
of  a  few  moons  to  complete  his  entire  century. 
Those  masters  of  the  Grecian  lyre,  Anacre- 
on,  the  sweet  Sophocles,  and  the  fiery-souled 
Pindar,  felt  no  frost  of  intellect,  but  were 
transplanted  as  evergreens,  in  the  winter  of 
fourscore ;  at  the  same  advanced  period, 
Wordsworth,  in  our  own  times,  continued 
to  mingle  the  music  of  his  lay  with  the  mur 
mur  of  RydaFs  falling  water,  and  Joanna 
Baillie,  to  fold  around  her  the  robe  of  tragic 
power,  enjoying  until  her  ninetieth  year,  the 
friendship  of  the  good,  and  the  fruits  of  a  fair 
renown ;  Montgomery,  the  religious  poet,  so 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  149 

long  a  cherished  guest,  amid  the  romantic 
scenery  of  Sheffield,  has  just  departed  at  the 
age  of  eighty-two;  and  Rogers,  who  gave  us 
in  early  life,  the  "Pleasures  of  Memory," 
now,  the  most  venerable  poet  in  Europe,  and 
probably  in  the  world,  is  cheered  at  ninety- 
three,  with  the  love  of  all  who  ever  came 
within  the  sphere  of  his  amiable  virtues. 

So  much  for  the  poets,  who  have  been  ac 
cused  of  burning  out  the  wheels  of  life,  in  the 
flames  of  passion  and  the  vagaries  of  imagin 
ation. 

"The  solace  of  song/'  says  Southey,  "cer 
tainly  mitigates  the  sufferings  of  the  wounded 
spirit.  I  have  sorrowed  deeply,  and  found 
comfort  in  thus  easing  my  mind;  though 
much  of  what  I  wrote  at  such  times,  I  have 
never  let  the  world  see." 

True  Poetry  has  also  affinity  with  the 
higher  harmonies  of  our  being, — with  religion 
and  its  joys.  Gathering  the  beautiful  from 
nature,  and  soaring  into  the  realm  of  fancy 
for  what  reality  withholds,  she  feeds  her 


150  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

children  on  angels'  food.  She  looks  to  the 
stars,  and  hears  melodies  that  are  above  their 
courses. 

Of  wits  and  humorists,  Cervantes  fed  on 
his  own  mirthful  conceptions,  to  the  verge  of 
threescore  and  ten,  and  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montague,  until  two  years  beyond  it,  in 
dulged  her  lively  and  capricious  tempera 
ment  ;  and  Sidney  Smith,  at  seventy-six, 
retained  in  a  remarkable  degree  his  intel 
lectual  keenness  and  originality. 

Literary  pursuits  seem  not  to  have  been 
adverse  to  the  happiness  or  longevity  of 
females.  Mrs.  Hoffland  and  Miss  Jane  Por 
ter,  reached  seventy-four,  in  dignity  and 
honor;  Mrs.  Chapone,  seventy-five;  Mrs. 
Piozzi,  the  biographer  of  Dr.  Johnson,  eighty- 
one;  Miss  Burney,  eighty-eight;  Mrs.  Carter, 
eighty-nine ;  and  the  venerated  Hannah  More, 
died  only  one  year  younger,  having  with  in 
defatigable  industry,  composed  eleven  books, 
after  she  had  numbered  her  sixtieth  birth 
day.  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Montague,  and  Mrs- 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  151 

Sherwood,  lived  to  be  eighty-one  ;  and  Mrs. 
Barbauld,  to  a  more  advanced  age.  Of  the 
latter,  it  was  said  by  Mrs.  Mary  L.  Ware, 
who  visited  her  in  1823,  "  Though  now 
eighty-two,  she  possesses  her  faculties  in  full 
perfection ;  her  manner  is  peculiarly  gentle, 
her  voice  low  and  sweet,  and  she  speaks  of 
death  with  such  firm  hope,  that  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  communing  with  a  spiritual  body." 

Didactic  and  philosophical  writers,  seem 
often,  in  their  calm  researches,  to  have  found 
refuge  from  that  strife  of  thought  which  em 
bitters  or  shortens  existence. 

Plato,  wove  for  the  men  of  Attica,  his  beau 
tiful  and  sublime  theories,  to  the  age  of 
eighty-one ;  and  at  eighty-five,  John  Evelyn 
closed  his  eyes  at  his  fair  estate  in  Wotton, 
which  he  had  embellished  both  as  a  naturalist 
and  an  author,  engraving  on  his  marble  mon 
ument,  as  the  result  of  long  experience,,  that 
"  all  is  vanity  which  is  not  honest,  and  that 
there  is  no  solid  wisdom  but  in  real  piety." 
The  diligent  and  acute  Bentley,  reached  four- 


152  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

score ;  and  Walker,  seventy-five ;  and  Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson,  "  whose  name  is  a  host," 
attained  the  same  age,  having  with  charac 
teristic  energy  applied  himself  to  the  study  of 
the  Dutch  language,  but  a  short  time  before 
his  death.  Scaliger  and  Parkhurst  fell  only 
a  few  months  short  of  threescore  and  ten ; 
Ainsworth  passed  three  years  beyond  it; 
Dr.  Noah  Webster,  of  our  own  New  Eng 
land,  retained  unimpaired  until  eighty-four, 
his  physical  and  mental  health,  with  the  rich 
store  of  his  varied  attainments.  Lindley 
Murray,  at  more  than  eighty,  continued  in 
the  active  duties  of  Christian  philanthropy; 
and  the  philologist,  Mitscherlich,  the  Nestor 
of  the  German  schools,  and  uncle  to  the 
famous  chemist  of  that  name,  died  recently 
at  Gottingen,  at  the  age  of  ninety -three.  Sir 
Isaac  Newton,  as  illustrious  for  Christian  hu 
mility  as  for  intellectual  greatness,  laid  down 
his  earthly  honors  at  eighty-five  ;  and  Frank 
lin,  who  in  the  words  of  Mirabeau,  "  stole  the 
lightning  from  Heaven,  and  the  sceptre  from 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  153 

tyrants,"  cheered  us  with  the  mild  radiance 
of  his  philanthropy  till  eighty-four ;  and  Her- 
schel  rose  above  the  stars,  with  which  he 
had  long  communed,  at  eighty,  while  his  sis 
ter,  whom  he  had  so  kindly  made  the  com 
panion  of  his  celestial  intercourse,  survived 
until  ninety-seven.  Yet  it  was  not  our  inten 
tion  to  gather  from  the  lists  of  science,  its 
multiplied  examples  of  ripe  age  and  rare  fame, 
but  rather  devote  our  prescribed  limits  to  the 
affinities  of  literature  with  longevity. 

The  sympathies  that  spring  from  commu 
nity  of  labor  in  the  field  of  intellect,  are  salu 
tary  and  graceful.  Those  minds  that  are 
above  the  petty  asperities  of  rivalship,  have 
often  thus  enjoyed  a  friendship  of  singular 
depth  and  fervor.  This  seems  to  have  been 
the  case  with  many  of  the  distinguished  wri 
ters  of  England's  Augustan  age.  Frequent 
association  led  to  intimacy  of  plan  and  pur 
suit.  They  criticised  each  other's  works, 
and  in  the  attrition  of  kindred  spirits,  found 
that  as  "iron  sharpeneth  iron,  so  doth  the 
14 


154  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

countenance  of  a  man,  his  friend."  It  has 
been  finely  said  of  Pope,  that  he  "reverenced 
his  equals  in  genius,  and  that  of  those  friends 
who  surpassed  him,  he  spoke  with  respect 
and  admiration."  Of  Gay  it  was  asserted, 
by  one  of  his  literary  associates,  that  "  every 
body  loved  him."  Even  the  witty  and  sar 
castic  Swift,  shrank  to  open  a  letter  which 
he  feared  might  announce  the  fatal  termina 
tion  of  a  sickness  that  oppressed  this  friend. 
It  lay  long  on  his  cabinet,  unsealed,  and  was 
afterward  endorsed  by  him,  as  communica 
ting  the  mournful  event  of  his  "  dear  friend 
Gay's  decease,  received  December  15th,  but 
not  read  until  five  days  after,  by  an  impulse 
foreboding  some  misfortune."  One  would 
scarcely  have  expected  such  sentimentality 
from  the  fierce-tempered  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's; 
but  literary  friendship  softened  him.  The 
intellectual  communion  of  Addison  and  Steele, 
cemented  an  interesting  attachment ;  and  the 
majestic  old  Johnson,  though  with  less  of 
mental  congeniality  for  Goldsmith,  still,  with 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  155 

affectionate  regard,  excused  his  eccentricities, 
praised  his  talents,  and  rejoiced  in  his  repu 
tation. 

This  amiable  and  salubrious  element  of 
intellectual  intercourse,  is  by  no  means  con 
fined  to  any  particular  age,  or  country.  In 
Germany,  where  native  and  noble  impulse  is 
the  least  fettered  by  conventionalism ;  in 
France,  where  genius  and  the  labors  of  litera 
ture,  open  the  gate  of  distinction  more  readily 
than  a  key  of  gold ;  and  in  our  own  free  land, 
where  more  than  in  any  other,  knowledge  is 
the  heritage  and  glory  of  the  people,  there  are 
many  examples  of  unity  of  heart  between 
those,  who  in  different  departments,  advance 
the  great  work  of  mental  progress. 

The  Lake  Poets,  Wordsworth,  Southey, 
and  Coleridge,  beautifully  attested  the  broth 
erhood  of  genius,  until  the  "  threefold  cord  " 
was  sundered  at  the  tomb. 

Much  of  this  affectionate,  generous  sympa 
thy  between  gifted  minds,  seemed  to  me  to 
exist  in  Great  Britain,  and  though  I  was  there 


156  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

too  late  to  witness  it  in  those  most  genial 
spirits,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  Mrs.  Hemans, 
its  sweet  revealings  were  manifested  by  Maria 
Edgeworth,  and  Joanna  Baillie,  as  well  as  by 
many  younger  and  distinguished  authors,  who 
still  live  to  bless  us. 

May  I  be  forgiven  if  I  here  add  a  little 
episode  to  please  myself?  an  interview  at 
Hampstead,  which  Memory  cherishes  among 
her  pencil-sketches. 

It  was  a  brighter  vernal  day  than  often 
occurs  under  English  skies,  when  I  drove 
thither  from  London,  to  see  Joanna  Baillie. 
I  found  her  seated  on  the  sofa,  in  her  pleasant 
parlor,  surrounded  by  many  pictures,  herself 
to  me,  the  most  pleasant  picture,  of  dignified 
and  healthful  age.  On  her  cheek  was  some 
what  more  of  color  than  usual,  for  she  had  just 
returned  from  a  long  walk  among  her  poor 
pensioners,  and  the  exercise,  and  the  comfort 
of  active  benevolence,  lent  new  life  and  ex 
pression  to  her  smile.  She  was  not  hand 
some,  at  least,  so  the  world  said ;  her  high 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  157 

cheek  bones  bespoke  her  Scottish  extraction, 
and  seventy-six  years  had  absorbed  any 
charm  that  youth  might  have  bestowed ;  yet 
to  my  eye  she  was  beautiful.  On  the  same 
sofa  was  her  sister,  Agnes,  whom  she  so 
intensely  loved,  and  to  whom  one  of  her 
sweetest  poetical  effusions  was  addressed. 
Though  several  years  beyond  fourscore,  her 
complexion  was  singularly  fair,  her  features 
symmetrical,  and  her  demeanor  graceful 
and  attractive.  Between  them,  was  seated 
Rogers,  the  banker-poet,  with  locks  like  the 
driven  snow,  having  come  out  several  miles 
from  his  mansion  in  St.  James'  Park,  to  make 
them  a  friendly  call.  His  smooth  brow,  and 
fresh  flow  of  conversation,  made  it  difficult  to 
believe  that  this  could  be  indeed,  his  eightieth 
spring.  It  seems  he  had  been  kindly  advising 
the  authoress  of  "  Plays  of  the  Passions,"  to 
collect  her  fugitive  poems,  from  their  wide 
spread  channels,  into  the  more  enduring  form 
of  a  volume.  As  she  felt  disinclined  to  the 

14* 


158  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

labor,  he  had  himself  undertaken  and  accom 
plished  it,  and  was  now  discussing  the  suc 
cess  of  the  publication,  and  enjoying  the  high 
suffrages  of  criticism,  as  if  they  were  his  own. 
While  their  cheering,  joyous  tones,  so  pleas 
antly  blended,  and  mental  communion  and 
service  seemed  to  have  given  them  new 
youth,  or  rather  to  have  kept  it  perennial,  I 
felt  that  the  world  could  not  furnish  another 
such  trio,  and  was  grateful  for  the  privilege  of 
beholding  it. 

Even  now,  I  imagine  that  I  hear  the  voice 
of  the  venerable  poet,  whom  I  still  rejoice  to 
number  among  my  living  friends,  repeating 
with  deliberate  intonation  and  perfect  empha 
sis,  his  favorite  passage  from  Mrs.  Barbauld, 
wrho  herself  resided  in  the  immediate  vicinity, 
at  Hampstead.  It  was  written  in  extreme 
old  age,  but  with  unfaded  vigor  of  intellect. 

"  Life  !  we've  been  long  together, 
Through  pleasant  and  through  cloudy  weather, 
'Tis  hard  to  part  where  friends  are  dear, 
Perhaps  'twill  cost  both  pang  and  tear : 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  159 

So,  steal  away,  give  little  warning, 
Choose  thine  own  time, 
Say  not  good  night,  but  in  yon  happier  clime, 

Bid  me  good  morning." 

Among  those  who  have  made  the  highest 
interests  of  the  soul  their  study,  and  by  pen 
and  voice  striven  to  promote  them,  are  many 
instances  of  healthful  adjustment  of  structure 
to  profession,  and  the  protracted  use  of  those 
powers  which  they  kept  in  active  exercise. 

Thomas  a  Kempis,  whose  writings  filled 
three  folio  volumes,  and  whose  principal 
work,  "  The  Imitation  of  Christ,"  was  com 
posed  at  the  age  of  sixty,  reached  his  ninety- 
second  year,  not  only  with  an  unimpaired 
mind,  but  with  the  perfect  use  of  eye-sight, 
unaided  by  spectacles.  At  the  same  advanced 
period  was  Bishop  Wilson  removed,  whose 
"Sacra  Privata"  still  breathes  like  living 
incense  on  the  heart's  altar.  Scarcely  three 
years  younger  was  our  own  Bishop  White, 
the  beauty  of  whose  silver  locks,  and  saintly 
smile,  and  holy  teachings,  concur  in  deepen- 


160  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

ing  the  Saviour's  precept,  that  all  Christians 
should  love  each  other.  John  Wesley  was 
enabled  to  persevere  in  his  labors,  till  eighty- 
eight,  having  before  he  reached  his  seventieth 
year,  published  more  than  thirty  octavo  vol 
umes.  On  his  seventy-second  birth-day,  he 
writes: 

"  I  have  been  considering  how  it  is,  that  I  should  feel 
just  the  same  strength  that  I  did,  thirty  years  ago ;  that 
my  sight  is  even  considerably  better,  and  my  nerves  firmer 
than  they  were  then ;  that  I  have  none  of  the  infirmities 
of  age,  and  have  lost  several  that  I  had  in  my  youth. 
The  great  cause  is  the  good  pleasure  of  God,  who  doeth 
whatever  pleaseth  Him.  The  chief  means  are,  first  my 
constant  rising  at  four,  for  the  last  fifty  years  ;  second,  my 
generally  preaching  at  five  in  the  morning,  one  of  the  most 
healthful  exercises  in  the  world ;  and  thirdly,  my  never 
traveling  less,  by  sea  and  land,  than  four  thousand  miles 
a  year." 

Theodore  Beza,  lived  to  be  eighty-six,  and 
Hoadley,  eighty-five;  Lardner  was  a  year 
younger  at  his  death,  and  John  Newton,  four 
score  and  two.  Warburton  closed  his  learned 
labors  at  eighty-one ;  and  Lowth  and  Porteus 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  161 

and  Simeon,  completed  their  Christian  exam 
ple  at  seventy-seven ;  and  Richard  Baxter  at 
seventy-six,  rose  from  the  "  Saint's  Rest," 
which  he  so  touchingly  depicted,  to  that 
"  Certainty  of  the  World  of  Spirits,"  which  he 
serenely  anticipated.  Archbishop  Seeker,  at 
seventy-five,  taught  how  saints  can  die  ;  and 
William  Jones,  of  Nayland,  and  Thomas 
Scott,  the  commentator,  passed  from  faithful 
service  to  their  great  reward,  at  the  age  of 
seventy-four;  and  Bishop  Andrews,  the  mas 
ter  of  fifteen  languages,  who  was  appointed 
by  James  First,  one  of  the  principal  transla 
tors  of  our  present  version  of  the  Scriptures, 
continued  until  seventy-one,  his  untiring  toils 
and  devoted  charities.  Beveridge  closed  his 
pious  pilgrimage  at  seventy ;  and  George  Fox, 
at  sixty-six;  and  John  Foster,  the  forcible 
essayist,  at  seventy-three. 

Connected  with  the  thoughtful  and  im 
pressive  image  of  the  last-named  author,  is 
that  of  another,  seen  at  about  the  same  period, 
in  his  native  Scotland,  and  also  a  minister  of 


162  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

the  Baptist  persuasion, — William  limes,  of 
Edinburgh.  He  was  then  at  the  age  of  sev 
enty,  in  the  habit  of  varying  the  toils  of  the 
pulpit  and  the  study,  by  a  summer  excursion 
on  foot,  to  the  Highlands,  where,  being  able 
to  preach  in  their  native  tongue,  he  collected 
large  audiences,  who  listened  to  the  words  of 
salvation  with  rivetted  attention.  From  this 
missionary  service,  the  only  recreation  that 
he  sought  during  a  year's  strenuous  labor,  he 
would  return  with  elastic  step,  a  cheering 
smile,  and  cheek  and  lip  so  florid  with  health 
that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  he  had 
indeed  reached  so  advanced  a  period.  He 
still  lives  at  the  age  of  eighty -three,  and  leads 
a  beloved  flock  in  their  Sabbath  worship. 

The  Rev.  William  Jay,  from  the  age  of 
sixteen,  when  he  began  to  preach  the  gospel, 
was  enabled  to  continue  until  eighty-six,  in 
that  holy  service,  laboring,  writing  or  speaking 
for  God,  and  encircled  to  his  last  moment  with 
loving  hearts  and  the  reverence  of  mankind. 

A  still  surviving  instance  of  protracted  use- 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  163 

fulness  and  honor,  is  that  of  Dr.  Routh,  who 
has  sustained  the  office  of  President  of  Mag 
dalen  College,  Oxford,  for  sixty-three  years, 
and  entered  about  two  months  since,  his 
ninety-ninth  year.  This  learned  and  vener 
able  man,  retains  good  health,  high  intellect, 
and  warm,  social  feelings.  In  his  exercise 
of  hospitality  and  benevolence,  there  is  no 
declension;  that  there  is  also  none  in  the 
respect  and  appreciation  of  the  students  over 
whom  he  presides,  is  expressed  in  the  follow 
ing  brief  extract  from  their  affectionate  tribute 
on  his  birth-day,  September  20th,  1853. 

"In  studious  care  a  century  well  nigh  past, 
Three  generations  ROUTH'S  fresh  powers  outlast ; 
A  NESTOR'S  snows  his  reverend  temples  grace, 
A  NESTOR'S  vigor  in  his  mind  we  trace. 
Judgment  not  yet  on  her  tribunal  sleeps ; 
Her  faithful  record  cloudless  Memory  keeps ; 
Nor  eye  nor  hand  their  ministry  decline, 
The  letter'd  toils  or  service  of  the  Nine. 
Yet  through  his  heart  the  genial  current  flows, 
Yet  in  his  breast  the  warmth  of  friendship  glows : 
On  rites  of  hospitality  intent, 
Toward  Christian  courtesy  his  thoughts  are  bent ; 


164  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

While  from  his  lips,  which  guile  nor  flattery  know, 

"  Prophetic  strains  "  of  "  old  experience  "  flow. 

A  blessing  rest  upon  thy  sacred  head, 

Time-honor'd  remnant  of"  the  mighty  dead," 

Through  whom  Oxonia's  sons  exulting  trace 

Their  stainless  lineage  from  a  better  race. 

Still  may  thy  saintly  course  their  beacon  shine, 

Still  round  their  heartstrings  thy  meek  wisdom  twine, 

Still  be  their  loyal,  loving  homage  thine ; 

And  tardy  may  the  heavenward  summons  come, 

Which  calls  thee  from  thy  sojourn  to  thy  home." 

It  should  here  be  mentioned  that  he  has 
just  completed  a  volume,  consisting  of  selec 
tions  from  the  ancient  fathers,  with  emenda 
tions  and  an  introduction,  intended  as  the 
prolongation  of  an  extensive  work  composed 
some  years  since,  with  the  title  of  "  Reliquiae 
Sacrae." 

The  power  of  fine  writing  sometimes  re 
mains  unimpaired  with  the  septuagenarians, 
and  even  to  the  later  evening  of  life.  I  think 
at  this  moment,  of  two  volumes  recently 
issued  from  the  press,  in  which  Professor 
Silliman,  of  Yale  College,  so  long  the  editor 

of  the  "  American  Journal  of  Science,"  and 

I 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  165 

now  in  his  seventy-sixth  year,  has  delineated 
an  extensive  tour  in  Europe.  Compared  with 
another  work  of  his,  published  nearly  half  a 
century  since,  and  describing  a  similar  excur 
sion  to  foreign  climes,  they  yield  nothing  of 
grace,  brilliance,  or  vigor,  but  might  seem 
rather  to  have  the  advantage  over  their 
predecessor.  Their  admixture  of  science, 
so  appropriate  to  his  own  profession,  with 
the  drapery  of  narrative,  gives  them,  as  it 
were,  bone  and  muscle,  by  which  to  stand 
erect,  and  move  among  the  people.  Over 
their  author,  also,  changeful  time  has  had 
little  power.  He  has  just  returned,  unfa- 
tigued,  from  a  journey  of  some  four  thousand 
miles,  to  the  Far  West,  enjoying  the  varied 
scenery  with  as  keen  a  zest  as^ever,  and  add 
ing  to  the  happiness  of  the  large  party  with 
which  he  traveled;  especially  entering  into 
the  pleasures  of  the  young,  with  the  cheer 
fulness  of  an  unclouded  spirit. 

His  fine,  manly  form  is  still  unbent,  his  un- 

spectacled  eyes  daunted  by  no  obscurity  of 
15 


166  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

type  or  chirography,  and  his  urbanity  and 
hospitality  in  full  exercise.  Long  may  they 
thus  continue. 

"  The  Gospel  its  own  Advocate,"  a  work 
from  the  pen  of  George  Griffin,  LL.  D.,  of 
New  York,  after  he  had  numbered  more  than 
threescore  and  ten,  shows  the  research  of  a 
mind  disciplined  by  the  severe  studies  of 
jurisprudence,  accustomed  to  weigh  contend 
ing  claims,  to  throw  words  into  the  crucible 
and  through  all  their  fermentations  watch  for 
the  witnessings  of  truth.  It  embodies  the 
force  of  a  clear  intellect,  and  the  conclusions 
of  a  long  life.  The  learned  author,  now  in 
his  seventy-seventh  year,  still  endued  with 
vigor  of  mind  and  body,  might  in  his  hours 
of  literary  labor,  have  readily  selected  from 
the  wide  range  of  nature,  or  the  familiar 
archives  of  history,  a  theme  more  accordant 
with  the  taste  and  spirit  of  the  times,  but 
religiously  chose  in  this,  as  wrell  as  in  a  pre 
vious  work,  to  devote  the  gathered  lights  of  his 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  167 

experience  to  the  defence  and  illustration  of 
that  gospel  wherein  is  our  hope. 

The  Memoir  of  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Croswell, 
of  Boston,  by  the  venerable  Dr.  Croswell,  of 
New  Haven,  Connecticut,  an  octavo  of  more 
than  five  hundred  pages,  is  undoubtedly  the 
most  affecting  as  well  as  judicious  tribute 
that  a  man  of  genius  and  piety  ever  received 
from  a  father  of  almost  fourscore  years. 
Girding  himself  to  lay  in  the  grave  the 
beloved  one,  who,  according  to  the  order  of 
nature,  should  have  closed  his  own  dying 
eyes,  instead  of  sinking  under  so  great  a  sor 
row,  he  rouses  himself,  and  with  the  same 
zeal  and  patience  with  which  in  his  hoary 
age  he  still  ministers  at  the  sanctuary,  con 
structs  a  monument  which  will  endure  when 
brass  and  marble  perish. 

An  interesting  catalogue  might,  doubtless, 
be  made  of  authors,  who,  after  the  period  of 
seventy,  or  even  of  eighty  years,  have  contin 
ued  to  interest  and  instruct  mankind.  Han 
nah  More  wrote  her  work  on  "Praver,"  at 


168  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

seventy-six;  and  Richard  Cumberland,  his 
poem  on  "  Retrospection,"  at  seventy-nine. 
Dr.  Blair,  so  celebrated  for  his  "  Lectures  on 
Rhetoric  and  Belles  Lettres,"  persevered  in 
his  literary  labors  until  very  late  in  life,  and 
was  occupied  in  preparing  an  additional  vol 
ume  of  sermons,  when  death  took  the  pen 
from  his  hand,  in  his  eighty-second  winter. 

At  the  same  advanced  age,  Walter  Savage 
Landor,  retains  the  force  and  elasticity  which 
have  always  characterized  his  style,  and  is  at 
present  engaged  in  editing  a  work  entitled, 
"  Letters  of  an  American."  At  his  pleasant 
home  in  Bath,  England,  he  is  still  in  posses 
sion  of  health,  and  of  that  peculiar  wit,  which 
in  earlier  life,  irradiated  his  "  Imaginary  Con 
versations,"  and  gave  him  rank  among  men 
of  genius. 

Still,  it  is  not  my  purpose  here,  to  make  a 
list  of  those  who  have  continued  in  age  to 
win  reputation  by  their  writings,  but  simply 
through  a  desultory  selection  of  examples,  to 
illustrate  a  theory  sometimes  advanced,  that 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  169 

the  mind  may  expand  and  ripen,  to  the  ex 
treme  of  human  life.  The  only  reason  to  the 
contrary,  is  the  disease  or  decay  of  those 
organs  through  which  it  receives  and  conveys 
impressions.  By  the  foregoing  instances,  as 
well  as  others  that  might  be  adduced,  it  will 
appear  that  there  is  no  necessary  connection 
between  this  declension  and  their  diligent  use. 
Indeed,  through  the  action  of  the  brain,  the 
nervous  system  may  doubtless  be  so  developed 
as  to  acquire  even  a  more  vigorous  tone. 

The  fever  of  literary  ambition,  the  rivalry 
of  authorship,  the  morbid  and  insatiable  thirst 
for  popularity,  are  not  numbered  among  the 
sanitary  tendencies,  or  worthy  ends  of  intel 
lectual  effort.  Neither  of  the  abuse  of  God's 
great  gift  of  genius  to  the  gratification  of  sel 
fish  and  depraved  tastes,  have  I  wished  to 
speak,  but  rather  of  its  unison  with  the  high 
est  responsibilities, — of  its  open  harmony  with 
the  perennial  flow  of  the  springs  of  life, — and 
of  the  long  peace  with  which  the  Great  Task- 
Master  hath  sometimes  seen  fit  to  crown  it. 
15* 


170  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

If  the  employment  of  a  teacher  has  been 
considered  favorable  to  longevity,  from  the 
cheering  influences  of  companionship  with 
the  young,  on  the  same  principle,  an  in 
dwelling  with  fresh  and  beautiful  thoughts, 
should  aid  in  preserving  the  youth  of  the 
mind.  If  in  suggesting  good  feelings,  and  a 
holy  practice  to  others,  there  is  any  develop 
ment  of  sympathies,  that  makes  even  strangers 
dear,  any  solace  for  joys  that  are  withheld,  or 
have  departed,  it  must  be  congenial  to  moral, 
as  well  as  to  mental  and  physical  prosperity. 

Literature,  like  those  fields  of  benevolence 
in  which  all  Christians  can  agree,  offers  a  fair 
meeting-ground  of  compromise  and  of  peace. 
It  has  room  enough  and  to  spare.  Its  laborers 
may  come  and  go,  as  brethren,  and  not  impede 
each  other.  They  may  glean  in  safety,  all 
day,  like  the  true-hearted  Moabitess,  and  "at 
night,  beat  out  what  they  have  gathered," 
while  the  world,  like  the  expectant  Naomi, 
will  bless  them. 

We,  the  people  who  have  past  their  prime, 


LITERARY     LONGEVITY.  171 

should  rejoice  that  so  many  of  our  own  hoary- 
headed  band,  have  been  enabled  to  leave  so 
many  enduring  traces  on  the  sands  of  time. 
For  if  the  satisfactions  of  rural  life,  the  trans 
muting  of  the  unsightly  mould  into  fruits  and 
flowers,  are  so  soothing  and  salutary,  should 
it  not  be  held  desirable  to  plant  in  the  mental 
soil,  trees  whose  "  leaves  are  for  the  healing 
of  the  nations  ? "  If  the  founders  of  those 
time-honored  edifices,  on  which  the  storms  of 
ages  have  beaten  in  vain,  are  regarded  with 
reverence,  is  it  not  a  privilege  to  be  permitted 
to  rear  in  the  realm  of  intellect,  columns  on 
whose  Corinthian  capital,  lingers  the  smile  of 
Heaven  as  a  never-setting  sun  ? 


CHAPTER  XII. 


"  Argue  not 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 
Of  heart  or  hope ;  but  still  bear  up,  and  steer 
Right  onward. 

MILTON. 

How  beautiful  is  the  setting  sun.  Long 
lines  of  golden  rays  tremble  along  the  horizon; 
crimson  and  purple  like  the  banner  of  a  king, 
go  floating  up  the  zenith.  As  a  benefactor 
he  retires  from  the  scenes  he  has  blessed, 
and  through  the  calm  twilight  men  tenderly 
remember  him. 

Thus  should  a  good  life  draw  to  its  close, 
fruitful  in  benefits,  and  glowing  with  reflected 
love,  until  the  evening  star  hangs  out  its  silver 
crescent.  Thus  should  its  westering  sun- 


WESTERING    SUNBEAMS. 


173 


beams  be  treasured  in  the  grateful  hearts 
which  have  been  cheered  by  its  path  of 
radiance. 

A  selfish  old  age  must  be  of  necessity, 
an  unhappy  one.  It  is  an  indwelling  with 
losses ;  lost  comeliness,  lost  vigor,  lost  pleas 
ure,  lost  importance  among  the  bright  and 
swift  current  of  moving  things.  The  hope 
less  search  for  what  is  departed,  depresses 
the  spirits  and  prepares  them  to  partake  in  the 
declension  that  marks  the  body.  If  whatever 
brings  the  mind  into  bondage  must  impair 
its  force;  the  decay  of  memory,  of  judgment 
the  adjunct  to  memory,  and  of  self-respect 
which  in  a  measure  depends  on  both,  is  more 
likely  to  occur  and  become  palpable  among 
aged  persons  who  think  principally  and  per 
manently  of  themselves.  It  is  cause  for 
thankfulness  if  through  the  affections,  the 
charities,  or  the  trials  of  life,  they  have  been 
taught  to  lower  their  own  expectations  from 
a  world  they  are  soon  to  leave.  Salutary  and 
lovely  is  God's  discipline  with  those  whose 


174  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

long  pilgrimage  is  nearly  finished ;  withdraw 
ing  the  props  on  which  they  leaned,  loosen 
ing  the  heartstrings  that  were  too  closely  or 
proudly  earth-bound,  that  the  Soul,  ere  she 
tries  her  unfettered  wing,  may  "  spring  up 
and  take  strong  hold  on  Him  who  made  her." 
It  is  pleasant  to  recall  whatever  of  brill 
iance  we  may  have  seen  gather  around  the 
western   gate   of  life,  and  preserve  it  as   a 
guiding  light  for  the  feet  of  others.     How 
noble  was  the  bravery  with  which  the  poet 
Dryden  battled  the  storms  of  fortune,  lifting 
an  unquenched  spirit  like  a  torch  amid  rocks 
and  waves.     When  he  might  through  age 
have  naturally  wished  to  relax  the  pressure 
of  literary  labor,  he  was  stimulated  anew  by 
his  paternal  affections.     Just  on  the  verge  of 
his  seventieth  year  he  was  apprised  of  the 
approaching  return  of  his  son  from  Rome,  in 
a  feeble  state  of  health;  and  though  he  had 
scarcely  completed  the  task  of  preparing  the 
second  edition  of  his  translation  of  Virgil  for 
the  press,  he  took  no  breathing  time,  but  im- 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS.  175 

mediately  contracted  to  supply  a  bookseller 
with  ten  thousand  verses,  at  sixpence  a  line, 
saying  pathetically  of  his  invalid  child,  "I 
can  not  spend  my  life  better  than  in  preserv 
ing  his." 

Among  the  men,  who  taking  in  their  hand, 
"  their  lives,  their  fortunes  and  their  sacred 
honor,"  gave  their  signature  to  the  Magna 
Charta  of  our  national  freedom,  quite  a  number 
were  appointed  to  length  of  days,  with  unfa- 
ded  renown.  The  Hon.  William  Ellery  of 
Newport,  who  from  the  memorable  era  of 
1776,  continued  nine  years  a  member  of  Con 
gress,  afterward  took  his  seat  as  chief  justice 
of  the  superior  court  of  Rhode  Island.  When 
the  age  of  seventy  released  him  from  this 
office,  he  accepted  that  of  collector  of  cus 
toms  for  his  native  city,  affectionately  serving 
her  to  the  day  of  his  death,  which  took  place 
at  the  age  of  ninety-three.  So  social  and 
agreeable  was  he,  notwithstanding  his  ad 
vanced  age,  and  such  powers  of  vivid  and 
graphic  narration  did  he  continue  to  possess, 


176  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

that  the  young  sought  his  company  for  their 
own  pleasure. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  his  death,  Febru 
ary  15th,  1820,  that  his  family  physician 
called,  not  professionally,  but  as  a  friend,  to 
enjoy  for  half  an  hour  his  delightful  society. 
In  his  usual  health,  he  was  seated  in  his  arm- 
hair,  reading  Cicero  de  Officiis.  But  while 
the  tide  of  conversation  flowed  freely  and 
brightly  on,  the  quick  eye  of  the  medical 
man  detected  a  change  in  his  venerated  com 
panion.  He  was  laid  upon  the  bed,  but 
resumed  reading  the  page  which  was  interest 
ing  him  when  his  friend  entered.  Gently 
the  pulse  ceased  its  motion,  and  the  uncloud 
ed  mind  glided  from  its  tenement  of  clay. 
Deep  humility  of  spirit  was  the  gift  of  this 
extraordinary  man,  and  a  firmness  in  duty, 
not  influenced  by  human  applause  or  blame. 
The  wheels  of  life  moved  more  calmly,  and 
perhaps  longer,  from  the  serene  temperament 
of  his  religion,  which  under  every  obstacle 
or  misfortune  solaced  his  own  soul  and  that 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS. 


of  others  with  the  sublime  precept,  "The 
Lord  reigneth,  let  the  earth  rejoice." 

The  sunbeams  of  usefulness  have  some 
times  lingered  to  a  late  period  around  the 
heads  of  those  who  had  taken  part  in  the 
pioneer  hardships  of  our  new  settlements. 
I  think  now  of  one,  but  recently  deceased,  at 
the  age  of  eighty-five — Judge  Burnett,  who 
was  numbered  among  the  founders  of  Ohio, 
that  state  which  sprang  from  its  cradle  with 
the  vigor  of  a  giant.  After  the  completion 
of  his  classical  and  legal  studies,  he  exchanged 
his  fair  ancestral  home  in  New  Jersey  for  a 
residence  in  Cincinnati,  then  in  its  rudest 
stages  of  development,  As  he  climbed  the 
steep  river-bank  he  saw  only  scattered  cabins, 
a  few  framed  buildings  and  a  log  fort,  making 
the  frontier  of  civilized  life.  Conforming  his 
habits  to  those  of  an  unrefined  community, 
and  claiming  but  a  few  physical  comforts,  he 
exercised  his  profession  in  the  courts  of  Detroit 
and  Vincennes,  when  traveling  was  by  bridle 
paths,  by  blazed  trees,  fording  wild  streams 
16 


178  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

and  camping  on  the  wet  ground.  Educated 
in  the  school  of  Washington  and  of  Hamilton, 
who  were  honored  guests  in  his  father's  house 
during  the  forming  period  of  his  life,  he  nobly 
dispersed  around  him  the  wealth  of  an  upright 
and  polished  mind.  By  persevering  industry 
and  moral  and  religious  worth,  he  won  general 
confidence  :  and  in  due  time  a  seat  in  the 
senate  of  the  United  States,  and  upon  the 
bench  of  the  supreme  court  of  Ohio,  attested 
the  respect  of  the  people.  Population  spread 
around  him  like  the  pageantry  of  a  dream, 
and  Cincinnati,  among  whose  rudiments  his 
manly  hand  had  wrought,  echoed  ere  his 
departure  to  the  rushing  tread  of  130,000 
inhabitants.  His  health  had  been  originally 
feeble,  but  the  endurance  of  hardship,  and 
what  is  still  more  remarkable,  the  access  of 
years,  confirmed  it.  At  more  than  fourscore 
he  moved  through  the  streets  with  as  erect  a 
form,  an  eye  as  intensely  bright,  and  collo 
quial  powers  as  free  and  fascinating,  as  at 
thirty.  When  full  of  knowledge  and  benev- 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS.  179 

olence,  and  with  an  unimpaired  intellect,  he 
passed  away,  it  was  felt  that  not  only  one  of 
the  fathers  of  a  young  land  had  fallen,  but 
that  one  of  the  bright  and  beautiful  lights  of 
society  had  been  extinguished. 

Of  Daniel  Webster,  it  was  affirmed  that 
the  clearness  of  his  own  great  mind  continued 
to  increase  and  to  flow  forth  with  even  a  ful 
ler  radiance  at  seventy  than  in  his  prime. 
Like  the  reformer  Wycliffe,  he  was  more 
and  more  "intent  upon  being  understood, 
intent  upon  imparting  the  conviction  or  pas 
sion  of  his  own  mind  to  other  minds."  With 
this  singleness  of  purpose,  and  power  of  truth, 
was  also  mingled  a  depth  of  feeling,  scarcely 
indicated  by  his  massive  form  and  majestic 
deportment.  "Yet,"  said  an  old  man  of  more 
than  eighty,  who  had  long  intimately  known 
him,  "  he  could  sympathize  writh  all.  Ever 
had  he  a  kindly  word  for  the  child,  the  youth, 
and  him  of  hoary  hairs.  He  could  not  look 
upon  a  fair  landscape  or  fields  waving  with 
grain,  without  blessing  God  for  permitting 


180  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

him  to  live  in  a  world  so  teeming  with 
beauty."  Thus,  with  the  radiance  of  thought 
and  feeling,  still  glowing  in  his  deep-set  eye, 

"  How  well  he  fell  asleep ! 
Like  some  grand  river  widening  toward  the  sea, 
Calmly  and  grandly,  silently  and  deep, 
Life  joined  eternity." 

The  capacity  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
as  a  counsellor  in  all  matters  of  state,  a  wise 
director  of  his  own  large  estates,  and  an 
ornament  in  society,  was  as  great  at  eighty- 
five,  as  during  any  previous  period.  His 
bodily  activity  and  powers  of  endurance  were 
also  remarkable,  though  in  boyhood  his  con 
stitution  was  pronounced  extremely  delicate. 
More  than  once  I  have  observed  with  delight 
his  arrival  at  the  House  of  Lords  on  some 
wintry  morning,  on  horseback,  when,  throw 
ing  his  reins  to  the  single  servant  who  attend 
ed  him,  he  would  proceed  with  vigorous  step, 
and  cheek  brightened  by  exposure  to  the 
keen  air,  up  those  long  flights  of  stairs,  which 
in  the  old  parliament  building,  wTere  formida 
ble  to  younger  feet. 


WESTERING  SUNBEAMS.        181 

One  evening  he  was  seized  while  in  his 
place,  with  sudden  illness,  like  a  premonition 
of  paralysis.  In  leaving  the  house,  he  chanced 
to  drop  his  hat,  and  realizing  with  singular 
clearness  of  mind  that  should  he  stop  to 
regain  it,  the  rush  of  blood  through  the  brain 
might  be  dangerously  quickened,  passed  on 
without  it,  holding-  his  head  in  its  usually  very 
upright  position.  One  of  the  peers,  noticing 
his  departure,  anxiously  followed  and  finding 
he  had  no  carriage  in  attendance,  induced  him 
to  accept  his  own,  and  return  home.  For 
two  or  three  days  bulletins  were  issued  from 
Apsley  House,  to  allay  the  anxiety  of  the 
people,  with  whom  he  was  an  idol.  Then 
again  appearing  in  his  accustomed  parliament 
ary  seat,  he  sustained  some  pending  resolu 
tion  with  a  brief  and  clear  speech,  proving  that 
indomitable  energy  and  strength  of  will  which 
pervaded  even  the  latest  period  of  his  exist 


ence. 


England   is  still   happy  in  the  protracted 
light  shed  upon  her  councils,  by  heads  that 
16* 


182  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

wear  the  silver  crown  of  age.  At  seventy- 
six,  Lord  Brougham  speaks  much  and  well ; 
Lords  Lansdowne  and  Aberdeen  at  threescore 
and  ten,  are  eminent  ministers  of  state ;  and 
Lord  Lyndhurst,  the  son  of  our  own  artist 
Copley,  is  in  his  eighty-second  year,  hale  and 
vigorous,  able  to  take  an  active  part  in  the 
discussion  of  the  most  intricate  public  affairs, 
and  ranked  by  good  judges  among  the  great 
est  of  living  orators. 

Born  in  the  same  year  with  Lord  Lynd 
hurst,  and  in  the  same  fair  city  of  Boston, 
the  Hon.  Josiah  Quincy  still  exhibits  unbroken 
powers  of  mind  and  body.  The  pen  retains 
its  force  that  traced  in  early  life  the  memorial 
of  his  illustrious  father,  and  afterward  gave 
to  our  country,  beside  other  valued  works,  a 
history  in  two  volumes  of  her  most  ancient 
seat  of  learning,  Harvard  University,  over 
which  he  had  himself  presided  with  honor 
for  more  than  sixteen  years.  The  fervid 
eloquence  which  on  the  floor  of  Congress,  as 
well  as  on  so  many  civic  occasions,  cast  forth 


WESTERING  SUNBEAMS.        183 

its  bold  metaphors  and  coruscations  of  wit, 
is  not  yet  extinguished.  It  is  probably  an 
unprecedented  fact  that  at  the  age  of  more 
than  fourscore,  he  should  have  been  urged  to 
accept  a  nomination  to  the  mayoralty  of  his 
native  city,  an  office  which  he  had  held  thirty 
years  before ;  leaving  at  his  retirement  indeli 
ble  marks  of  his  taste  and  efficiency  in  the 
financial  prosperity,  the  humane  institutions, 
the  noble  enterprises  and  elegant  structures 
of  this  Athens  of  New  England. 

I  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  him  the  past 
summer,  at  his  delightful  country  residence 
in  Quincy,  superintending  the  minute  and 
perfectly  balanced  policies  of  his  rural  domain, 
and  entertaining  his  guests  with  that  fine 
blending  of  hilarity  and  dignity  peculiar  to 
the  true  gentlemen  of  the  old  school.  It  was 
a  pleasure  to  look  at  his  erect  form,  healthful 
complexion,  and  what  is  still  more  remarkable 
in  our  changeful  climate,  an  entire  set  of 
wThite  teeth  which  the  art  of  the  dentist  had 
never  interpolated.  Surrounded  by  the  sweet- 


184  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

est  filial  affections,  the  man  whom  Everett 
had  pronounced  the  "  ornament  of  the  forum, 
the  senate  and  the  academy,"  gracefully 
exchanged  the  pursuits  of  Cicero  for  those 
of  Cincinnatus. 

Residing  at  the  same  time  of  which  I  have 
spoken,  on  his  fair  estate  at  Brookline,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Boston,  but  since  transferred  to  a 
higher  state  of  existence,  was  Col.  Thomas 
H.  Perkins,  in  his  ninetieth  year.  It  was  a 
source  of  exulting  pleasure,  while  abroad,  to 
see  him  arrive  in  London,  with  unalloyed 
spirits,  an  energetic  and  excellent  traveler, 
both  by  sea  and  land,  though  then  on  the  con 
fines  of  fourscore.  The  voyage,  from  which 
so  many  young  persons  shrink,  was  to  him  no 
obstacle;  indeed,  he  afterward  repeated  it, 
enjoying  th£  changeful  and  boisterous  scenery 
of  ocean,  as  when  in  his  prime. 

His  munificence,  with  its  living  rays,  bright 
ened  until  life's  sunset.  His  sympathies  for 
the  sightless  had  been  expressed  by  such 
'large  bounties,  among  others,  the  gift  of  a 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS.  185 

mansion,  valued  at  forty  thousand  dollars,  that 
the  institute  for  their  instruction  was  incor 
porated  by  the  name  of  the  "Perkins  Asylum 
for  the  Blind."  Truly  was  it  said  of  him  by 
Mr.  Stevenson,  at  an  assemblage  of  the  mer 
chants  of  Boston,  whose  profession  he  had  so 
honorably  represented  throughout  a  long  life  : 
"  Literature,  science  and  art,  each  received 
his  homage  and  his  sacrifices;  but  his  chosen 
altar  was  in  the  temple  of  charity.  No  story 
of  distress  fell  upon  his  ear,  without  making 
his  manly  heart  throb  to  the  overflow  of  tears. 
It  was  not  weakness,  but  greatness  in  him. 
Those  tears  were  the  mingled  offspring  of 
sorrow  and  of  joy ;  sorrow  for  suffering,  and 
joy  that  he  could  do  something  to  alleviate  it. 

"'  His  full  heart  kept  his  full  hand  open.'" 

A  touching  scene  occurred  in  Fanueil  Hall, 
the  year  previous  to  his  death.  Daniel  Web 
ster,  speaking  there  with  fervid  eloquence,  of 
the  liberal  aid  that  had  been  rendered  to  the 
cause  of  education,  morality,  want  and  woe, 


186  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

by  the  affluence  of  Boston,  alluded  personally 
to  the  venerable  Colonel  Perkins,  then  seated 
near  him  on  the  platform. 

"Will  he  rise  at  my  request,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  and  show  his  benevolent  countenance  to  the 
people?" 

He  who  had  been  of  old  distinguished  by 
a  lofty  form  and  kingly  beauty,  stood  up  in 
the  feebleness  of  hoary  time.  Three  cheers, 
into  which  the  heart  of  grateful  thousands 
were  merged,  rent  the  concave.  And  yet 
three  more  followed. 

Then  the  great  orator  said  with  trembling 

lip:  ,...,.-,. 

"  God  bless  him !  He  is  an  honor  to  his 
city,  an  honor  to  his  state,  an  honor  to  his 
country.  His  memory  will  be  perfumed  by 
his  benevolent  actions,  and  go  down  a  sweet 
odor  to  our  children's  children." 

Still  traversing  the  streets  of  Boston,  in  his 
eighty-third  year,  regardless  of  winter's  cold, 
or  summer's  heat,  may  be  seen  the  venerable 
missionary,  the  Rev.  Charles  Cleveland,  intent 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS.  187 

on  deeds  of  mercy.  The  orphan,  so  often 
overlooked  in  the  world's  great  strife,  the 
suffering  widow,  the  poor  emigrant,  with  his 
sick  stranger-heart,  hear,  approaching  their 
desolate  attic,  or  dark,  damp  cellar,  a  tireless 
foot,  and  are  cheered  by  the  blessed  smile  of 
one  who  like  the  aged  apostle  John,  has  con 
centrated  all  duty  in  the  precept  to  "  love  one 
another."  In  a  school  for  infants,  under  the 
superintendence  of  his  wife,  he  manifests 
continual  interest,  and  by  affectionate  de 
portment,  and  kind  counsel  to  all,  without 
distinction  of  sect,  shows  the  perpetual  play 
of  those  hallowed  sunbeams  that  repel  the 
depression  of  age,  and  herald  an  unclouded 
day. 

In  the  department  of  editorial  labor,  whose 
unresting,  keen-eyed  research,  is  rewarded  in 
our  age  and  country,  by  such  immense  influ 
ence  over  public  opinion,  there  have  been  in 
stances  of  the  long  and  prosperous  endurance 
of  the  severe  tax  it  imposes,  both  on  mind 
and  body.  Among  these,  the  Hon.  Theodore 


188  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

Dwight,  was  eminently  distinguished.  A  na 
tive  of  Massachusetts,  he  resided  the  greater 
part  of  his  life  in  Connecticut  and  New  York, 
and  conducted  in  both  of  the  last-named 
states,  different  weekly  periodicals,  for  the 
space  of  half  a  century.  He  also  stood  a  faith 
ful  sentinel  at  that  unslumbering  post,  the 
head  of  a  daily  newspaper  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  of  extensive  circulation.  His  fine  liter 
ary  taste  did  not  confine  itself  to  editorial 
articles,  but  in  consecutive  works,  as  well  as 
on  the  floor  of  Congress,  he  was  appreciated 
by  his  countrymen.  Age  did  not  dim  his 
intellect,  or  his  remarkable  colloquial  powers. 
He  continued  to  write  with  the  same  rapidity 
and  acuteness  that  had  marked  his  early 
prime,  the  messenger  often  taking  the  pages 
wet  with  ink  to  the  waiting  press.  Well  do 
I  remember  the  radiance  of  his  expressive 
black  eye,  when  those  coruscations  of  wit 
kindled,  which  eighty-two  winters  had  not 
quelled,  or  when  the  smile  of  earnest  friend- 


WESTERING  SUNBEAMS.         189 

ship,  or  hallowed  affection,  lighted  up  a  face 
beautiful  to  the  last. 

We  sometimes  see  in  every  grade  and  pro 
fession,  instances  of  protracted  usefulness, 
mingling  with  that  hopeful,  cheerful  temper 
ament,  which  is  supposed  to  appertain  to  the 
earlier  periods  of  life.  This  is  illustrated  in 
the  following  passages  from  one  of  those  let 
ters  with  which  Grant  Thorburn,  the  octoge 
narian  florist,  occasionally  interests  the  public, 
through  the  medium  of  our  various  period 
icals. 

«NEW  YORK,  February  18,  1854. 

"  This  day  I  enter  on  my  eighty-second  year ;  my  health 
as  good,  my  appetite  as  good,  I  relish  my  food  as  well,  and 
I  sleep  as  well,  as  when  in  my  thirtieth  year ;  and  for  this, 
I  thank  the  Giver  of  all  Good.  The  sceptic  may  sneer 
and  the  fool  may  laugh,  it  is  but  the  crackling  of  thorns 
under  a  pot.  You  may  call  this  egotism,  or  any  ism  that 
you  please,  but  I  think  that  ingratitude  is  worse  than  the 
sin  of  witchcraft.  'What  shall  I  render  to  the  Lord  for 
all  his  benefits  ? ' 

"  For  the  last  sixty  years,  I  have  been  only  one  day 
confined  to  my  dwelling  by  sickness.  Seventeen  of  these 
17 


190 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


summers  were  spent  in  the  city,  when  yellow  fever,  like  a 
Turkish  plague,  made  our  streets  desolate,  and  strong  men 
dropped  like  grass  beneath  the  scythe  of  the  mower.  The 
doctors  of  law,  physic  and  divinity,  the  board  of  health, 
the  mayor  and  the  ancient  men  of  the  city,  all  affirmed  that 
the  fever  was  contagious.  If  so,  I  have  a  higher  Power 
than  Chance  to  thank  for  the  preservation  of  myself  and 
family — for  neither  my  wife,  myself,  nor  any  of  my  thir 
teen  children,  were  ever  affected  by  this  fatal  disease. 
The  exemption  was  the  more  remarkable,  as  I  spent  much 
of  my  time  in  the  chambers  of  death  and  at  the  sick-bed  of 
the  dying. 

« In  the  dreadful  fever  of  1798,  from  the  15th  to  the 
22d  of  September,  I  had  seven  patients.  They  lay  in 
three  different  wards  near  half  a  mile  apart.  I  traveled 
day  and  night,  from  one  house  to  another,  they  having 
none  to  give  them  a  cup  of  cold  water,  myself  excepted. 
Four  of  them  died;  three  recovered;  thousands  died 
alone. 

"  I  will  narrate  in  eighty  minutes  my  journey  of  twice 
forty  years  through  the  wilderness  of  this  world.  Many, 
and  full  of  good  have  been  the  days  of  my  pilgrimage. 
"When  I  left  Scotland  in  April,  1794, 1  was  in  my  twenty- 
second  year.  The  amount  of  my  education  was  to  read 
the  Bible  and  write  my  own  name.  Previous  to  this,  I 
had  never  been  twenty  miles  from  the  house  wherein  I 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS.  191 

was  born,  and,  with  regard  to  men  and  their  manners,  I 
was  as  ignorant  as  a  babe. 

"  The  first  night  I  slept  on  shore  in  America,  was  on 
the  17th  of  June,  in  an  open  garret,  with  my  head  within 
eighteen  inches  of  the  shingle  roof,  my  ship's  matrass 
spread  on  the  floor.  The  night  was  hot.  A  thunder 
storm  arose  at  midnight — the  rain  descended — the  floods 
beat  on  that  frail  roof,  and  great  was  the  terror  of  my 
heart.  The  lightning  flashed — the  thunder  rolled  ;  I  had 
never  seen  or  heard  the  like  in  Scotland,  and  I  wished 
myself  at  hame  again.  Sleep  fled  from  mine  eyes,  and 
slumber  from  my  eyelids.  I  rose  at  daybreak — head 
ache,  heart-ache — and  my  spirits  sunk  down  to  my  heels. 
Being  a  stranger,  I  was  loth  to  disturb  the  family  by  going 
forth  so  early ;  to  amuse  two  listless  .hours,  I  opened  my 
case  of  books  to  spread  them  on  the  floor ;  as  they  had 
been  fourteen  weeks  in  the  hold  of  the  vessel,  I  feared 
they  were  mildewed.  On  the  top,  lay  a  small  pocket 
Bible ;  it  was  placed  there  by  the  hands  of  my  pious 
father.  I  opened  the  book.  '  My  son,'  met  my  eye.  For 
a  moment,  I  thought  my  father  spoke.  I  read  to  the  end 
of  the  chapter — it  was  the  third  of  Proverbs.  It  is  near 
sixty  years  since  that  morning,  but,  at  every  cross-road, 
when  not  knowing  whither  to  turn,  to  the  right  hand  or 
the  left,  on  referring  to  this  chapter,  I  found  written,  l  This 
is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it.' 


192  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

"  Whether  I  shall  see  another  birth-day,  or  whether  I 
shall  see  another  Sabbath,  it  matters  not.  I  know  He  will 
keep  what  I  have  committed  to  his  charge." 

It  would  be  well  if  cheering  social  inter 
course  were  more  cultivated  among  those 
who  share  in  the  sympathies  of  many  years. 
A  lady  of  ninety-three,  in  one  of  the  villages 
of  Massachusetts,  lately  entertained  at  her 
tea-table,  a  party  of  seven  friends  of  both 
sexes,  whose  ages  ranged  from  seventy  to 
eighty-six.  True  satisfaction  and  a  decorous 
hilarity  marked  the  festival.  Much  had  they 
to  say,  for  their  united  experience  covered 
an  area  of  six  hundred  and  fifty  years.  Rural 
employments  had  probably  contributed  to 
preserve  their  health ;  for  all  were  dwellers 
upon  their  own  farms,  within  the  vicinity  of 
a  square  mile,  so  that  neighborly  intimacy 
gave  a  zest  to  their  intercourse,  and  no  win 
ter  of  age  had  been  allowed  to  obstruct  the 
avenues  of  friendship. 

It  is  desirable  that  the  lambent  light  of 
happiness  should  beam  from  the  countenance 


WESTERING     SUNBEAMS.  193 

and  life  of  those  who  have  long  set  a  good 
example,  thus  making  virtue  attractive,  and 
dispelling  the  dread  which  the  young  feel  of 
becoming  old. 

Is  not  the  parting  sun  beautiful  in  a  wintry 
landscape  ?  The  pure  snow-hillocks  wear 
a  faint  rose-crown,  and  the  trees  glitter  in 
their  frost-work  drapery,  as  if  for  a  birth-night. 

Does  any  one  ask  how  this  "  house  of  our 
pilgrimage  "  may  be  illumined,  when  shadows 
steal  around,  and  perchance,  those  that  "  look 
out  of  the  windows  are  darkened  ? "  Are 
there  not  some  dwellings  which  are  lighted 
from  above  ?  We  would  fain  have  a  sky 
light  that  shall  not  fail  us ;  one  that  we  can 
look  up  to,  and  be  glad.  We  are  not  satisfied 
with  a  cold  lustre  in  Memory's  halls,  or  with 
a  solitary  star-beam. 

Can  we  not  have  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  when 
winter  gathers  around  us?  Yes,  we  will 
keep  love  in  our  hearts,  while  they  beat,  that 
there  may  be  warmth,  as  well  as  radiance. 

Thus,  may  our  day  of  life  draw  toward  its 
17* 


194  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

close.  At  "evening-time  may  it  be  light." 
In  thy  light,  O  Father  of  our  spirits,  may  we 
see  light ;  that  walking  in  love  here  below, 
we  may  come  at  last,  in  thy  good  time,  to  that 
glorious  world,  where  there  is  no  more  night, 
and  where  the  sunbeam  of  love  is  eternal. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


Ye  who  hold 

Proud  tenantry  in  earth,  and  call  your  lands 
By  your  own  names,  and  lock  your  cofFer'd  gold 
From  him  who  for  a  bleeding  Saviour's  sake 
Doth  ask  a  part, — whose  shall  those  treasures  be, 
When  like  the  grass-blade  smit  by  autumn-frost, 
Ye  fall  away  ? 

IT  is  a  mournful  thought  that  men  should 
become  more  attached  to  earthly  possessions 
when  about  to  leave  them,  or  grasp  them  with 
so  great  intensity  that  the  final  separation 
must  be  forcible  and  afflictive. 

But  is  this  statement  true  ?  Do  such  cases 
often  occur  ?  If  so,  are  there  no  remedies  ? 

As  we  are  creatures  of  habit,  adhesive 
ness  undoubtedly  gathers  strength  from  time. 


196  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

Since  what  we  have  been  accustomed  to  do, 
or  to  see,  becomes  unconsciously  interwoven 
with  our  existence,  so  what  we  have  been 
accustomed  to  have  and  to  hold,  may  grow 
closer  to  our  hearts  as  life  recedes,  causing 
those  who  in  youth  were  merely  prudent,  to 
be  at  last,  the  victims  of  avarice.  Still,  the 
extreme  of  this  passion  is  not  often  witnessed, 
inasmuch  as  a  miser  is  a  marked  creature, 
held  up  for  observation  and  comment,  both 
in  passing  life  and  in  history. 

All  the  subtle  talents  of  Mazarin,  were  not 
able  to  gild  his  rapacity,  or  hide  it  from  the 
contempt  of  coming  ages.  The  solemn  warn 
ing  of  his  confessor,  that  to  purchase  peace  of 
conscience,  he  must  make  restitution  of  unjust 
gains,  failed  to  overcome  his  insatiable  habit 
of  hoarding.  The  frank  assurance  of  his  phy 
sician,  that  though  but  just  upon  the  verge  of 
sixty,  the  revolution  of  two  brief  moons,  was 
the  utmost  limit  of  his  days,  embittered  with 
terror  both  his  waking  and  sleeping  moments. 
Then,  his  two  hundred  millions  of  livres 


ABOUT     MONEY.  197 

passed  before  him,  in  review,  each  one  as  dear 
as  ever.  To  enrich  his  relatives,  the  haughty 
family  of  Mancini,  was  probably  an  excuse 
made  by  the  wily  cardinal,  for  his  unquelled 
avarice,  but  the  root  was  in  the  love  of  it. 
Some  rare  gems,  and  singularly  precious  treas 
ures,  were  placed  in  bags  beneath  his  pillow. 
After  struggles  of  deadly  anguish,  which  in 
creasing  disease  induced,  he  stretched  his 
weak,  emaciated  hands  to  feel  if  they  were 
still  there.  The  fearful  Spoiler,  drawing 
every  hour  more  near,  he  might  have  apos 
trophized  in  the  words  ascribed  to  one  of 
England's  great  and  unhappy  statesmen. 

"If  thou  be'est  death,  I'll  give  a  nation's  treasure, 
Enough  to  purchase  such  another  island, 
So  thou  wilt  let  me  live  and  feel  no  pain." 

Other  extreme  cases  might  be  cited,  but 
this  is  not  our  object.  It  is  rather  to  recom 
mend  such  antidotes  as  are  the  most  obvious, 
if  we  admit  that  avarice  is  a  disease  indige 
nous  to  life  in  its  decline. 

The   first  prescription  would  be,  pay  all 


198  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

debts.  There  is  religion  in  it.  If  we  are 
using,  or  have  the  name  of  possessing  any 
thing  for  which  the  owner  has  not  been  fully 
remunerated,  let  us  lose  no  time  in  rendering 
adequate  compensation.  It  is  better  at  all 
times  to  do  without  what  we  cannot  justly 
afford  to  purchase,  than  avail  ourselves  of  what 
literally  belongs  to  another :  and  the  weight 
of  undischarged  obligation,  grows  heavier  as 
we  draw  nearer  our  own  final  account.  It 
is  at  all  times  a  clog  to  the  free  spirit,  a  yoke 
that  bows  down  independence  of  thought  and 
purpose.  "  Poverty  without  debt  is  inde 
pendence,"  says  an  Arabian  proverb.  The 
blessed  Founder  of  our  faith,  to  his  command 
to  "  render  to  all  their  dues,"  added  the  force 
of  his  own  example,  in  the  payment  of  tribute 
to  the  Roman  ruler.  An  old  author  has 
quaintly  remarked,  "  Even  when  Christ  bor 
rowed  Peter's  boat  to  preach  a  sermon  out 
of,  he  paid  him  for  the  same  with  a  great 
draught  of  fishes."  The  wise  monarch  of 
Israel  attaches  the  epithet  of  wickedness  to 


ABOUT      MONEY.  199 

that  too  common  forgetfulness  of  equity, "  bor 
rowing  and  paying  not  again."  The  spirit  of 
acquisitiveness  is  a  temptation  to  vice.  It 
confuses  the  simple  principles  of  right  and 
wrong.  The  fearful  frauds  that  mark  modern 
days,  and  our  own  country,  bid  us  to  strength 
en  every  foundation  of  equity,  and  beware  of 
the  spirit  of 

"  These  feverish  times, 
That  putting  the  how-much  'before  the  how, 
Cry  like  the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech,  give." 

How  forcible  were  the  words  of  the  elo 
quent  Patrick  Henry,  on  his  death-bed,  to  his 
children,  "  If  I  could  will  to  give  you  the 
Christian  religion,  how  gladly  would  I  do  so ; 
for  with  this,  and  without  any  earthly  posses 
sion,  you  would  be  infinitely  rich :  without  it, 
though  with  all  else  that  the  heart  can  wish, 
you  would  be  miserably  poor." 

The  apostolic  injunction,  "  Owe  no  man 
anything,  except  to  love  one  another,"  gath 
ers  strength  and  significance,  with  every 
added  year.  The  luxury  of  giving,  cannot 


200  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

be  fairly  enjoyed,  while  debts  remain  unliqui 
dated.  "  Be  just  before  you  are  generous/' 
is  a  precept  as  admirable  for  its  innate  truth, 
as  for  its  garb  of  simplicity.  Punctual  and 
cheerful  payment  of  wages  to  the  laborer  is 
a  form  of  benevolence.  To  withhold  hard- 
earned  dues,  or  to  render  them  churlishly,  is 
anti-christian.  A  philanthropist,  who  in  his 
business  employed  many  operatives,  was  in 
the  habit  of  paying  them  all  at  stated  periods, 
and  of  adding,  if  possible,  some  kind  word  of 
counsel,  saying  it  was  a  "  good  time  to  sow  a 
good  seed,  when  there  was  a  sunbeam  to 
quicken  it." 

Repress  the  spirit  of  accumulation.  This 
has  been  said  to  increase  with  years.  Yet 
the  faculties  which  it  calls  into  exercise  are 
adverse  to  the  tranquillity  which  is  usually 
coveted  in  life's  decline.  Its  progress  must, 
therefore,  be  traced  to  the  force  of  a  habit, 
against  which  reason  remonstrates. 

The  fever  of  speculation,  the  eagerness  of 
gain,  the  disappointment  of  loss,  all  the  in- 


ABOUT      MONEY.  201 

tense  gradations  from  exultation  to  despair, 
are  inapposite  and  hurtful  to  a  being  who 
cannot  long  partake  that  for  which  he  barters 
so  much ;  and  whose  wisdom  is  rather  to 
seek  wealth  in  the  country  where  he  is 
about  to  dwell.  The  value  of  every  species 
of  property  depends  upon  the  period  in  which 
it  may  be  rendered  available,  or  upon  its 
probability  of  continuance.  A  bond  about  to 
expire,  a  house  ready  to  fall,  an  estate  which 
the  mortgagee  might  at  any  moment  claim, 
would  not  be  coveted  as  investments  by  the 
prudent.  To  the  aged  all  earth's  possessions, 
being  deficient  in  the  article  of  time,  which  is 
the  breath  of  their  nostrils,  are  far  less  worthy 
of  fervent  search,  than  when  in  early  prime, 
they  were  encouraged  by  hope  to  associate 
them  with  a  long  term  of  years.  Such  med 
itations,  probably,  induced  a  man  of  laborious 
and  successful  acquisition  to  say,  "I  will  add 
no  more  to  my  capital  hereafter ;  and  the 
surplus  of  all  my  income  shall  be  the  Lord's." 

Cultivate  the  habit  of  giving.     This  great 
18 


202  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

pleasure  may  have  been  reserved  for  later 
years  as  a  compensation  for  those  enjoyments 
which  time  has  taken  away.  The  aged,  by 
their  position,  are  peculiarly  solicited  to  make 
trial  whether  it  is  not  better  to  give  than  to 
receive. 

There  is  force  in  that  quaint  epitaph, 

"  What  I  saved  I  lost, 
What  I  spent  I  had, 
What  I  gave  I  kept." 

"I  think  I  am  rich  enough,"  said  Pope, 
after  his  writings  became  productive,  "to 
give  away  one  hundred  pounds  a  year.  I 
would  not  crawl  upon  the  earth  without 
doing  a  little  good.  I  will  enjoy  the  pleasure 
of  giving  what  I  have  to  give  by  doing  it 
while  I  am  alive,  and  seeing  others  enjoy  it. 
I  should  be  ashamed  to  leave  enough  for  a 
monument  if  there  was  a  friend  in  want 
above  ground." 

Many  examples  might  be  cited  were  time 
and  space  mine,  where  similar  resolutions 


ABOUT     MONEY.  203 

have  been  adopted  as  the  motto  and  guide  of 
life,  until  the  spirit  blessing  all  whom  it  met 
was  wafted  by  gratitude  below,  to  songs  of 
melody  above.     Such  an  one  has  been  just 
removed  from  among  us.     Anson  G.  Phelps, 
Esq.,  of  New  York,  who  by  his  own  unaided 
industry,    became   the   possessor  of  a  large 
fortune,   through   untiring   deeds  of  philan 
thropy  kept  his  heart    tender    and  open  to 
the    wants   and   woes  of  mankind.      Time, 
money   and  sympathy  were  with  him  ever 
ready  for  the  claims  of  beneficence,  whether 
large  or  small.     To  the  Being  who  had  pros 
pered  his  labors,  he  thus  considered  himself 
accountable,  and  this  conscientious  discharge 
of  duty  was  blessed  as  one  of  his  highest  joys. 
Until  more  than  threescore  and  ten  years  had 
passed  over  him,  he  attended  with  undimin- 
ished  judgment  to  the  concerns  of  a  great 
commercial  establishment,  and  the  interests 
of  many  associated  and  individual  forms  of 
benevolence.     Amid  the  sufferings  and  lan 
guor  of  decline   his  mind  peacefully  resting 


204  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

upon  that  God  whom  from  youth  he  had 
served,  still  occupied  itself  in  plans  of  liber 
ality.  Within  two  or  three  days  of  his  death, 
while  arranging  for  a  donation  of  several 
thousand  dollars  to  some  religious  design, 
a  beloved  one  expressed  fear  thaj;  it  might 
too  much  tax  his  feeble  strength^and  proposed 
that  it  should  be  left  to  the  care  of  others, 
but  he  replied,  "  My  business  has  long  been 
to  save  that  I  might  give,  and  I  wish  to  con 
tinue  it  while  life  lasts."  More  than  half  a 
million  is  dedicated  in  his  will  to  the  chari 
ties  which  he  had  long  patronized,  and  beside 
other  bequests  to  his  twenty-two  grandchild 
ren,  was  the  sum  of  $5000  for  each,  the 
interest  of  which  was  to  be  annually  devoted 
to  deeds  of  religious  bounty.  Thus  did  he 
seek,  even  when  he  should  be  numbered 
with  the  dead,  to  lead  his  descendants  in 
those  paths  of  Christian  charity  which  he  had 
loved.  Among  the  objects  of  philanthropy 
in  his  own  city,  the  Asylum  for  the  Blind  had 
shared'  largely  in  his  bounties  and  sympathies. 


ABOUT     MONEY.  205 

Its  inmates,  at  his  frequent  visits,  gathered 
around  him  to  take  his  hand  as  that  of  a 
father.  Their  thrilling  and  tuneful  voices 
poured  forth  the  tearful  melody  of  a  hymn  at 
his  thronged  funeral  obsequies. 

"How  those  blind  children  will  miss  him!" 
said  the  clergyman  in  his  address,  at  the 
church  where  for  many  years  he  had  worship 
ed.  "  They  never  saw  his  benignant  face,  but 
they  well  knew  the  kind  voice  of  their  ben 
efactor.  How  do  all  the  blessed  affections  of 
humanity,  how  do  all  the  sacred  hopes  of 
religion,  delight  to  hover  over  a  good  man's 
grave." 

Another  counsel  which  we  venture  to  give, 
is  to  superintend  personally,  as  far  as  possible, 
such  plans  of  benevolence  as  are  approved 
and  adopted.  This  is  true  economy.  We 
best  understand  our  own  designs.  It  may 
not  always  be  feasible,  perfectly  to  incorporate 
them  with  the  mind  of  another.  "  He  who 
uses  the  ministry  of  many  agents,  says  a  pro- 
18* 


206  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

found   moralist,  may  be  by   some   of  them 
misunderstood  and  by  others  deceived." 

Why  should  we  not  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
dispensing  pur  own  gifts  ?  "  Come,  please  to 
give  us  something,"  said  a  shrewd  nurse  to 
an  invalid  and  rather  parsimonious  old  lady ; 
"  give  us  all  something  now  and  see  us  look 
pleasant  while  you  are  alive."  There  was 
philosophy  here  as  well  as  policy. 

Illustrations  of  this  position  are  so  numer 
ous  that  it  is  embarrassing  and  almost  invid 
ious  to  select. 

The  late  Hon.  Samuel  Appleton,  of  Boston, 
who  lived  to  almost  the  verge  of  ninety,  was 
distinguished  by  the  practical  efficiency  of 
charity.  The  exercise  of  a  clear  judgment 
kept  pace  with  his  persevering  liberality. 
In  carrying  out  such  designs  as  he  decided  to 
adopt,  the  amount  of  his  benevolence  often 
exceeded  $25,000  annually.  So  long  did  he 
pursue  this  blessed  husbandry,  that  he  was 
enabled  to  see  ripening  fruits  from  the  germs 
he  had  planted  in  the  sterile  soil  of  poverty 
and  ignorance. 


ABOUT     MONEY.  207 

It  is  pleasant  to  observe  how  his  discrimi 
nating  and  unimpaired  mind  simply  and  sen- 
tentiously  expressed  itself,  in  presenting  a 
donation  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  a  venera 
ted  scholastic  institution. 

"  It  affords  me  much  pleasure  to  have  it  in  my  power 
to  do  something  for  the  only  College  in  my  native  State, 
which  has  done  so  much  to  establish  a  sound  literary 
character  in  the  country. 

"  Dartmouth  has  done  her  full  proportion  in  educating 
for  the  pulpit,  the  bar,  the  healing  art,  and  the  senate, 
good  and  great  men,  who  have  done  honor  to  their  names, 
to  the  College,  and  the  Country. 

"  May  New  Hampshire  long  continue  to  send  forth  from 
her  literary  emporium,  men  who  will  dispense  among  their 
fellows,  religion,  law,  and  the  other  arts  and  sciences,  in 
simplicity,  purity,  and  truth." 

Though  few  have  the  amount  of  wealth  to 
dispense,  which  fell  to  the  lot  of  this  un 
wearied  philanthropist,  yet  the  zeal  which 
determined  as  far  as  possible,  to  be  its  own 
executor,  is  imitable.  Those  who  trust  to 
others,  even  during  life,  are  not  sure  of  having 


208  PAST    MERIDIAN. 

their  plans  executed.  Much  less  can  this  be 
expected  when  they  are  dead.  Agents  may 
fail  or  betray.  They  may  be  absorbed  with 
their  own  business  and  ours  be  delayed  or 
forgotten.  A  large'  portion  of  testamentary 
charities  perhaps  never  reach  the  most  avail 
able  points  of  the  object  which  their  donors 
contemplated. 

The  forms  of  benevolence  change.  Those 
objects  which  twenty  years  since  were 
prominent,  are  now  in  a  measure  obsolete, 
or  superseded  by  others.  If  we  have  selected 
one  which  seems  fitting  and  feasible,  let  us 
see  to  it  ourselves.  Our  heirs  will  probably 
have  concerns  enough  of  their  own,  and  not 
care  to  be  burdened  with  ours  also. 

Methinks  I  hear  a  murmured  rejoinder, 
"  there  are  various  forms  of  charity  I  should 
like  to  patronize,  but  I  must  save  for  my 
children,  and  I  have  poor  relations." 

These  are  the  key-tones  which  covetous- 
ness  has  struck  for  ages,  and  with  such  force 
as  often  to  bewilder  itself.  There  is  in  them 


ABOUT     MONEY.  209 

a  semblance  of  justice  and  of  conscience, 
while  the  root  is  at  best  a  concealed  selfish 
ness.  The  hoarding  for  descendants,  which 
at  first  view  seems  paternal  and  amiable,  may 
be  hurtful  to  those  whose  benefit  it  contem 
plates.  The  expectation  of  wealth  may  par 
alyze  their  industry.  Its  possession  may  check 
their  sympathies,  perhaps  endanger  their 
souls.  If  we  adopt  the  charity  that  begins 
at  home,  let  us  see  that  it  does  not  become 
bed-ridden  and  die  at  home.  For  wherever 
there  is  one  of  God's  family  who  is  in  sorrow, 
or  ignorance,  or  needs  bread  or  a  garment, 
or  is  sick,  or  in  prison  to  vice  or  despair,  let 
the  same  be  to  us  as  our  "brother  and  sister 
and  mother." 

The  possession  of  property  involves  an 
obligation  of  stewardship,  both  to  the  Giver 
and  to  our  fellow-creatures ;  an  obligation 
which  receding  life  renders  more  imperative 
and  sacred.  We  would  not  stand  before  our 
Judge  with  rust  upon  our  souls,  derived  from 
the  gold  that  perishes.  Of  its  unrighteous 


210  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

gathering,   its   unjust   detention,    or   unkind 
denial  to  any  in  the  hour  of  need,  we  would 

be  guiltless  in  the  dread  day  of  account. 

* 

I  have  somewhere  seen  four  homely  rules 
which  comprise^  true  wisdom,  and  whose 
observance  would  prevent  much  remorse  : 

"  1.  Do  all  the  good  you  can; 

2.  In  all  the  ways  you  can ; 

3.  To  all  the  people  you  can ; 

4.  Just  as  long  as  you  can." 

There  are  some  who  in  their  desires  to  do 
good  are  discouraged  if  they  must  operate  on 
a  small  scale,  or  be  bounded  by  a  narrow 
circle.  They  erroneously  associate  large  ben 
efactions,  with  the  pure  element  of  benev 
olence.  Such  persons  may  be  consoled  by 
Mahomet's  explanation  of  good  deeds  to  our 
race.  His  definition  embraced  the  wide 
circle  of  all  possible  kindness.  Every  good 
act  he  would  say  is  charity.  Your  smiling 
in  your  brother's  face  is  charity ;  an  exhorta 
tion  of  your  feflow-man  to  virtuous  deeds  is 
equal  to  alms-giving,  your  putting  a  wanderer 


ABOUT     MONEY.  211 

in  the  right  road  is  charity ;  your  assisting  the 
blind  is  charity;  your  removing  stones,  and 
thorns,  and  other  obstructions,  from  the  road, 
is  charity ;  your  giving  water  to  the  thirsty 
is  charity.  A  man's  true  wealth  hereafter  is 
the  good  he  does  in  this  world  to  his  fellow- 
man.  When  he  dies,  people  will  say,  "  what 
property  has  he  left  behind  him  ? "  But  the 
angels  will  ask,  "  what  good  deeds  has  he 
sent  before  him?" 

And  now,  if  any  of  us  who  have  together 
mused  on  this  subject,  realize  that  the  time 
is  short,  let  us  the  more  strenuously  fulfill 
deferred  resolutions  and  undischarged  duties. 
Let  us  pay  what  we  owe,  and  break  the 
slavery  of  money  getting,  and  study  the 
science  of  charity  in  the  love  of  it,  and  learn 
the  joy  of  being  our  own  almoners.  For  to 
all,  whether  young  or  old,  who  are  still  seek 
ing  the  good  things  of  this  transitory  state, 
the  warning  of  an  ancient  writer  is  appropri 
ate  : 

"Build  your  nest  upon  no  tree  here,  for 


212  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

God  hath  sold  the  whole  forest  unto  Death ; 
and  every  tree  whereupon  we  would  rest  is 
ready  to  be  cut  down.  Therefore,  let  us  flee, 
and  mount  up,  and  -make  our  abode  among 
the  cliffs,  and  dweil  in  the  sides  of  the  Great 
Everlasting  Rock." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


"  He  prayeth  best,  who  loveth  best." 

COLERIDGE. 

IT  is  sometimes  the  case,  that  good  and 
kind-hearted  people,  imbibe  on  certain  points, 
a  rigidity  of  opinion,  or  an  undue  expectation 
of  conformity,  which  is  both  disagreeable  and 
inexpedient.  It  is  a  kind  of  despotism,  against 
which  enlightened  intellect  revolts.  I  am 
not  ignorant  that  it  has  been  numbered  among 
the  tendencies  of  age,  though  I  have  never 
observed  it  to  be  exclusively  confined  to  that 
period.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  seen  and 
admired  in  many  old  persons,  an  increase  of 
candor,  a  reluctance  to  condemn,  and  a  miti 
gation  of  all  austerity,  like  the  mellowing  of 
19 


214  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

rich  fruit,  ripe  for  the  harvest.  Those  amia 
ble  friends  seemed  to  have  taken  the  advice 
of  the  clear-minded  and  benevolent  Franklin, 
not  to  tarry  in  the  basement  rooms  of  the 
Christian  edifice,  but  to  make  haste  and  get 
into  the  upper  chamber,  which  is  warm  with 
the  sunlight  of  charity. 

While  we  concede  liberty  of  judgment  to 
others,  we  should  use  courtesy  in  the  expres 
sion  of  our  own.  It  is  both  fitting  and  wise, 
that  dissenting  opinions  should  be  wrapped  in 
gentle  speech.  Were  it  always  so,  much  of 
the  bitterness  of  strife  would  evaporate,  and 
controversies  lulled  into  harmony,  make  only 
a  stronger  music  to  the  ear  of  humanity. 

If  dogmatism  has  been  considered  a  con 
comitant  of  age,  in  former  times,  it  would 
surely  be  well  to  dismiss  it  in  our  own.  The 
world  itself  has  so  changed  its  aspects,  capaci 
ties  and  modes  of  action,  during  the  last  half 
century,  that  many  of  the  conclusions  which 
then  seemed  rational  and  well-established, 
must  now  be  either  reconsidered,  or  counted 


THE     AMENITIES.  215 

obsolete.  Then,  she  was  in  a  manner  home 
bred,  and  when  she  went  abroad,  it  was 
comparatively  with  the  pace  of  a  tortoise. 
She  sate  in  the  evening,  by  the  light  of  a 
tallow-candle,  and  read  standard  old  books, 
'and  remembered  what  was  in  them,  and  who 
wrote  them. 

Now,  she  is  in  haste,  and  can  admit  but 
few  lasting  impressions.  She  rides  on  the 
steam,  and  talks  by  lightning.  She  reveals 
new  agencies  that  bewilder  her  children,  and 
astonish  herself.  Like  the  mystic  form  in 
the  Apocalypse,  she  "is  clothed  with  the  sun, 
and  hath  the  moon  under  her  feet."  Her 
"  stones  are  the  place  of  sapphires,  and  she 
hath  dust  of  gold." 

So  many  new  elements,  or  unknown  com 
binations,  have  been,  or  are  being  discovered, 
in  this  our  planet,  that  a  common,  old-fash 
ioned  person  could  scarcely  be  more  at  a 
loss,  on  the  ring  of  Saturn,  or  among  the 
belts  of  Jupiter.  It  is  no  wonder  that  those 
who  founded  conclusions  on  ancient  premises, 


216  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

should  be  at  fault,  where  there  is  no  prece- 
(dent.  The  great  principles  of  right  and 
wrong,  must,  indeed,  ever  remain  the  same ; 
but  the  rapid  movement,  and  transmutation 
of  passing  objects,  confuse  the  old  modes  of 
reasoning. 

We,  therefore,  of  the  ancient  regime,  should 
forbear  strongly  to  press  preconceived  opin 
ions,  and  should  form  new  ones  with  peculiar 
modesty.  For  we  are  not  certain  of  what  we 
once  supposed  we  well  understood,  and  must 
solace  ourselves  with  the  assertion  of  Bacon, 
that  "  he  is  the  wisest  man,  who  is  the  most 
susceptible  of  alteration."  Still,  we  will  not 
embark  on  a  sea  of  doubt,  but  regard  with 
leniency  our  fellow-voyagers,  as  they  steer 
their  various  courses,  over  time's  troubled 
billows, — as  we  hope,  toward  the  same  great 
haven  of  rest. 

These  amenities  mingling  with  our  religious 
belief,  should  repel  bigotry.  That  we  should 
be  attached  to  the  form  of  faith  that  has  long 
sustained  and  solaced  us,  is  natural  and  com- 


THE     AMENITIES.  217 

mendable.  But  if  there  has  been  ever  a 
period  in  which  we  were  inclined  to  think 
that  "  we  alone  were  the  people,  and  wisdom 
must  die  with  us/'  it  is  time  to  dismiss  the 
assumption.  For  among  the  many  good  les 
sons  that  age  has  taught  us,  should  be  tolera 
tion  and  humility.  Through  much  discipline 
and  many  sorrows,  it  instructs  us  that  true 
religion  is  not  a  wall  to  shut  out  our  fellow- 
beings,  nor  a  balance  in  which  to  weigh  grains 
of  doctrine,  nor  a  rack,  on  which  to  stretch 
varying  opinions,  nor  a  javelin  to  launch  at 
different  complexions  of  faith,  but  "peace, 
and  love,  and  good-will  to  men."  It  should 
have  enabled  us  to  make  progress  in  the 
last  and  highest  grace,  benignant  and  saintly 
charity. 

Faith  has  been  our  teacher,  ever  since  we 
first  lisped,  with  childish  utterance,  "  in  the 
beginning  was  the  Word,  and  the  Word  was 
with  God,  and  the  Word  was  God."  Hope, 
as  far  as  she  draws  nutriment  from  earth,  can 

have  little  more  for  the  aged,  either  in  vision 
19* 


218  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

or  fruition.  But  Charity,  our  last,  most  patient 
teacher,  will  ever  find  some  beautiful  precept, 
some  holy  exercise,  till  "  this  mortal  shall  put 
on  immortality." 

Yet  though  age  should  soften  all  hostilities 
of  opinion,  as  the  setting  sun  softens  the  land 
scape,  there  are  occasionally  some  minds  of 
antagonistic  character,  whose  controversial 
tastes  gather  strength.  With  them,  the 
beatitude  which  the  gospel  promises  to  peace 
makers,  is  overshadowed  by  the  ambition  of 
controlling  the  opinions  of  others.  Such  ideas 
harmonize  rather  with  the  policy  of  an  Israel- 
itish  usurper,  than  of  the  meek  and  lowly 
Redeemer.  "  Is  it  peace,  Jehu  ?  What  hast 
thou  to  do  with  peace  ?  Turn  thee,  behind 
me." 

But  how  often  is  the  disposition  and  power 
of  guiding  others,  associated  with  the  most 
eminent  liberality  and  love.  Hear  the  noble 
suffrage  of  John  Wesley,  when  advanced  years 
had  fully  instructed  his  large  mind  and  heart. 

"  My  soul  loathes  the  frothy  food  of  con- 


THE      AMENITIES.  219 

tending  opinions.  Give  me  solid,  substantial 
religion.  Give  me  a  humble  lover  of  God, 
and  of  man,  full  of  mercy  and  good  fruits, 
laying  himself  out  in  works  of  faith,  in  the 
patience  of  hope,  and  the  labor  of  love.  My 
soul  shall  be  with  such  Christians,  whereso 
ever  they  are,  and  whatsoever  doctrines  they 
may  hold." 

"There  is  no  way,"  says  the  venerable 
Bishop  White,  "  in  which  the  ministerial 
office  may  be  more  useful  than  in  raising  the 
harmonizing  voice  of  religion,  to  allay  the 
jealousies  and  resentments  that  result  from 
the  interfering  opinions  and  interests  of  men 
in  civil  life.  But,  does  it  appear,  that  from 
the  infancy  of  Christendom  to  the  present 
day,  this  blessedTwork  has  been  promoted 
by  ecclesiastical  politicians  ?  Have  they  not 
been  rather  the  fomenters  of  strife  ?  No 
wonder;  because  either  the  lust  of  power,  or 
the  spirit  of  faction,  drove  them  into  tempta 
tion." 

"Men  who  think,  will  differ"  writes  the 


220  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

learned  Dr.  Priestly,    "but   true    Christians 
will  ever  be  candid." 

"I  do  not  wish/'  said  Rowland  Hill,  with 
his  characteristic  pleasantry,  "the  walls  of 
separation  between  different  orders  of  Chris 
tians  destroyed,  but  only  a  little  lowered,  that 
we  may  shake  hands  over  them." 

"  The  nearer  we  approximate  to  universal 
love,"  said  the  large-minded,  large-hearted 
Robert  Hall,  "the  higher  we  ascend  in  the 
scale  of  Christian  excellence." 

We  blame  the  folly  of  the  Egyptian  Queen, 
yet  overlook  their  greater  madness,  who  dis 
solve  in  the  sharp  acid  of  contention,  the 
priceless  pearl  of  charity,  the  soul's  chief 
wealth,  and  venture  to  stand  in  their  reckless 
poverty  before  a  Judge  who  requireth  love, 
and  the  deeds  of  love,  as  a  test  of  loyalty,  and 
a  shield  from  wrath.  In  His  dread  presence, 
we  must  all  appear,  and  appeal  only  as  sin 
ners,  having  "  left  undone  the  things  that  we 
ought  to  have  done,  and  done  the  things  that 
we  ought  not  to  have  done."  From  this 


THE     AMENITIES.  221 

parity  of  condition  should  spring  brotherhood 
of  feeling.  Hand  in  hand  let  us  kneel  before 
the  throne  of  the  Pardoner. 

A  simple,  significant  incident  was  once  re 
lated,  in  the  discourse  of  a  Scottish  divine. 

Two  cottagers,  dwelling  under  the  same 
roof,  became  alienated.  It  so  happened  that 
both  were  employed  at  the  same  time  in 
thatching  their  tenement.  Each  heard  the 
sound  of  the  other's  hammer,  and  saw  the 
progress  of  his  work,  yet  took  no  friendly 
notice. 

But  at  length,  as  they  approached  nearer, 
they  looked  in  each  other's  face  and  chanced 
to  smile.  That  smile  was  a  messenger  from 
heaven.  With  it,  came  the  thought  how 
much  better  it  would  be  for  those  who  dwell 
under  one  roof,  to  be  at  peace  in  their  hearts. 

Then  they  shook  hands.  They  said,  "Let 
us  be  friends"  and  a  new,  great  happiness 
became  theirs. 

Are  we  not,  all  of  us,  dwellers  under  God's 
roof,  and  as  Christians  engaged  in  the  same 


222 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 


work  ?  Is  not  the  silent  lapse  of  years  bring 
ing  us  nearer  and  nearer  toward  each  other  ? 
Let  us  then  press  on  in  love,  until  by  His 
grace,  our  thatching  well  done,  we  meet  on 
the  top  at  last,  and  mingle  in  with  the  joy  of 
angels. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


ttinter. 


"  And  when  the  tinting  of  the  Autumn  leaves 
Had  faded  from  its  glory,  —  we  have  sat 
By  the  good  fires  of  winter,  and  rejoiced 
Over  the  fulness  of  the  gathered  sheaf." 

WILLIS. 

WHAT  a  singular  subject  !  The  pleasures  of 
winter.  And  what  may  they  be?  Some, 
with  whom  the  imagery  of  frost  and  snow 
predominates,  will  be  ready  to  say  that  it 
has  none. 

Surely  it  has  been  the  most  ill-treated 
season,  decried  by  almost  every  one  that 
could  wield  a  pen  or  weave  a  couplet.  The 
poets  have  been  in  league  against  it  from 
time  immemorial.  Still  it  has  some  very 
respectable,  shall  I  say  desirable  characteris- 


224  PAST      MERIDIAN. 

tics?  It  has  not  the  fickleness  of  spring, 
whose  blossoms  so  soon  fall,  nor  the  enervation 
of  summer,  when  the  strong  men  bow  them 
selves,  nor  the  imperious  exactions  of  autumn, 
when  the  in-gathering  is  a  weariness,  and 
may  be  a  disappointment. 

Do  not  speak  with  too  much  scorn  of  a 
wintry  landscape.  The  wreaths  of  smoke 
rising  high  into  the  clear,  blue  skies,  the  pure, 
white  covering  under  which  nature  reposes, 
the  sparkling  of  the  sinuous  streams,  where 
the  graceful  skaters  glide,  the  groups  of  chil 
dren,  gathering  rosier  cheeks  and  merrier 
spirits  from  the  heightened  oxygen  of  the 
atmosphere,  give  to  a  winter  morning  in  our 
sunny  latitude  cheering  excitement. 

Did  you  ever  chance  to  look  upon  the 
glorious  Niagara  in  the  garniture  of  winter  ? 
And  did  not  its  solemn,  solitary  majesty, 
impress  you  more  deeply,  than  when  the 
green,  waving  woods,  and  the  busy,  gazing 
throngs,  divided  the  absorbing  sentiment  ? 

Is  not  the  wintry  eve  sweet,  with  its  warm 


THE     PLEASURES     OF     WINTER.  225 

fires  and  bright  lights,  when  families  gather 
in  a  closer  circle,  and  better  love  each  other  ? 
Heart  springs  to  heart,  with  fewer  obstacles 
than  in  the  more  discursive  seasons,  when  the 
foot  is_tempted  to  roam  and  the  eye  to  wander. 
'  The  baby  crows  louder  after  its  father  because 
it  can  sit  longer  on  his  knee.  The  youth  has 
a  lengthened  tale  for  his  lady-love,  and  the 
storm  passes  by  unheard.  Pleasant  talk,  and 
sweet  song,  and  loud  reading,  vary  the  scene 
of  household  delights.  Added  cheerfulness 
and  love  are  among  the  treasures  of  the 
wintry  evening. 

Shall  we  not  avail  ourselves  of  these  hints, 
when  the  winter  of  life  comes  ?  Shall  we 
not  light  up  the  cheerful  lamp,  and  put  more 
fuel  on  the  flame  in  our  cold  hearts  ?  They 
need  not  go  out,  though  some  are  gone  who 
were  wont  to  feed  them  with  fresh  oil.  We 
will  keep  love  to  our  race,  alive,  till  the  last. 
Let  its  embers  throw  their  warmth  even  into 
the  dark  valley.  Yes,  we  will  carry  those 
20 


226  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

embers  with  us,  and  relight  them  where  they 
can  never  wane  or  expire. 

The  young  are  said  to  love  winter.  Let 
us  strive  to  make  them  love  us,  when  we 
become  the  personification  of  winter.  We 
will  redouble  our  offices  of  kindness,  and  our 
powers  of  entertainment,  and  see  if  we  cannot 
melt  the  ice  that  has  collected  between  us. 

"  Young  men,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "  are  to 
be  happy  by  hope,  and  the  old  by  memory." 
Yes,  with  us,  are  the  pictures  of  the  past, 
the  winter  gallery,  whose  landscapes  fade 
not,  and  whose  fountains  still  freshly  murmur. 
Memory  !  she  who  hath  sifted  and  winnowed 
the  harvest  of  life,  that  she  may  know  the 
true  wheat.  Memory,  who'  hath  stood  by  us 
when  Hope  and  Love  have  so  often  rung  the 
death-knell,  and  forsaken  us, — may  we  be 
happy  through  her  ?  The  Lord  be  thanked 
if  it  is  so.  If,  in  looking  back  on  all  the  way 
wherein  He  hath  led  us,  she  presents  a 
predominance  of  correct  motive,  of  earnest 
obedience,  of  forgiven  sin,  let  us  strike  that 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  WINTER.     227 

key-tone  of  praise  which  shall  re-echo  through 
eternity. 

Among  the  prominent  joys  of  life's  winter, 
are  those  of  faith ;  a  nearness,  and  shadowing 
forth  of  things  unseen.  It  was  at  a  festal 
gathering  of  the  old  and  young,  that  the 
question  wTas  once  proposed, — which  season  of 
human  life  was  the  happiest.  It  was  freely 
discussed,  with  varying  opinions.  Then  the 
guests  decided  that  their  host,  a  man  of  four 
score,  should  be  the  umpire.  Pointing  to  a 
neighboring  grove,  he  replied,  "  When  vernal 
airs  call  forth  the  first  buds,  and  yonder  trees 
are  covered  with  blossoms,  I  think  how  beau 
tiful  is  spring.  When  summer  clothes  them 
writh  rich  foliage,  and  birds  sing  among  the 
branches,  I  say  how  beautiful  is  summer. 
When  they  are  loaded  with  fruit,  or  bright 
with  the  hues  of  early  frost,  I  feel  how  beau 
tiful  is  autumn.  But  in  sere  winter,  when 
there  are  neither  verdure  or  fruit,  I  look 
through  the  leafless  boughs  as  I  could  never 
do  before,  and  see  the  stars  shine" 


228  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

Stars  of  our  God !  beam  more  brightly  into 
our  souls,  through  this  wintry  atmosphere. 
For  our  home  is  near.  And  notwithstanding 
the  Great  Philosopher  hath  said  that  the  old 
can  be  happy  only  through  memory,  we  will  be 
happy  through  hope  also,  yea,  through  that 
hope  which  hath  no  mixture  of  earth,  the 
"  hope  that  maketh  not  ashamed,  and  which 
is  as  an  anchor  to  the  soul." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


"  Oh  soldier  of  the  Cross,  away  with  dreams ! 
Bright  on  thy  brow,  eternal  glory  streams, 
In  faith,  in  love,  in  wisdom's  stedfast  mind. 
Arise  and  leave  this  moonlight  camp  behind." 

BISHOP  BURGESS. 

IF  it  is  wrong  to  disparage  the  season  of 
age,  which  so  few  reach,  over  the  hidden  pit 
falls  of  time,  it  is  unwise  to  regard  only  with 
reluctance  and  terror,  the  transition  to  another 
life.  To  depart  from  this  world,  is  as  neces 
sary  to  the  completion  of  our  pilgrimage  as 
to  have  entered  it ;  a  point  of  existence  not 
to  be  evaded,  a  consummation  of  what  was 
here  begun. 

Do   we   not   bear    within    ourselves,    the 
essential  argument  and  proof  of  future  exist- 
20* 


230  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

ence  ?  Even  a  heathen  shall  beautifully 
answer  this  question,  the  clear-minded  Xen- 
ophon.  "When  I  consider  the  boundless 
activity  of  our  minds,  the  remembrance  we 
have  of  things  past,  our  foresight  of  what  is 
to  come,  when  I  reflect  on  those  noble  dis 
coveries  and  improvements  that  those  minds 
have  achieved,  I  am  persuaded,  and  out  of 
all  doubt,  that  a  nature  which  hath  in  itself 
such  excellent  things  cannot  possibly  be 
mortal." 

Is  not  this  brief  life  so  fitted  and  adjusted 
to  another,  as  to  form  but  one  existence  ? 
Like  apartments  in  a  well-arranged  mansion, 
they  harmonize  and  are  in  symmetry.  May 
we  not  pass  from  one  to  the  other,  with  con 
fidence  in  the  Builder  and  Master  of  the 
Mansion  ?  If  the  passage  be  dark,  is  there 
not  a  lamp  at  each  extremity,  placed  there 
by  His  hand  who  "  hath  conquered  Death, 
and  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light 
through  the  Gospel  ? " 

A  saintly  man  drawing  near  his  last  hour, 


A     NEW     EXISTENCE.  231 

said  to  me,  "  That  other  world  is  as  clear,  and 
as  near,  as  the  entrance  into  the  next  room." 
Raising  his  emaciated  hand,  with  a  great 
brightness  in  his  eye,  he  added,  "I  had  rather 
enter  that  next  room  than  to  remain  longer 
here,  for  in  that  pleasant  room  are  more  of 
my  friends  than  in  this." 

"  Why  are  we  spared  so  long  ?  "  is  sometimes 
the  half-murmuring  question  of  the  aged,  for 
whom  the  novelties  of  life  are  extinguished. 

The  remark  is  an  implication  of  unerring 
wisdom.  As  long  as  breath  is  lent,  there 
will  be  some  duty  to  perform,  some  enjoyment 
to  partake,  some  right  word  to  be  spoken, 
some  prayer  to  be  sent  upward,  some  point 
of  Christian  example  to  be  made  complete. 
It  would  be  well  to  bear  in  our  hearts  the 
motto  of  a  poet, 

"How  well  is  ours : — how  long,  permit  to  Heaven." 

Were  our  fears  and  anxieties  less  devoted 
to  the  circumstances  of  leaving  this  life,  than 
to  the  danger  of  failing  in  those  duties  on 


232  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

which  the  welfare  of  a  future  one  depends, 
it  were  better  for  us  now  and  ever  after. 

The  dark-winged  angel  who  is  appointed 
to  summon  us  to  a  new  existence,  is  often 
arrayed  with  imaginary  terrors,  and  represen 
ted  as  the  foe  of  our  race.  A  quaint  writer 
has  recommended  that  we  should  "keep  on 
good  terms  with  Death."  It  would  be  indeed 
wise  to  make  him  our  friend,  to  speak  no  ill 
of  him,  to  be  ready  for  him,  and  to  meet  him 
without  fear. 

"I  am  dying,"  said  Washington,  when  a 
sharp  sickness  of  twenty-four  hours  cut  off 
his  span  of  sixty-seven  years,  "  but  I  am  not 
afraid  to  die."  Sometimes  a  new  and  strange 
courage  comes  to  the  Christian  with  death, 
though  he  might  "  all  his  lifetime  have  been 
subject  to  bondage."  The  diffident,  who 
shrank  ever  from  his  fellow-man,  has  been 
heard  to  open  his  mouth  boldly,  and  speak 
beautiful  things  of  the  world  to  come.  To 
the  weak-spirited  and  oppressed,  he  appears 
as  a  deliverer.  Tyranny  hath  power  no  more. 


A     NEW     EXISTENCE.  233 

The  fears  and  hopes  that  were  born  in  dust, 
and  dwelt  there,  fade  away.  The  eye  that 
grows  dim  to  these  lower  skies,  kindles  with 
the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children  of  God." 
Friends !  brethren  and  sisters,  already  far 
advanced  on  the  journey  to  another  life,  who 

"  Nightly  pitch  the  moving  tent 
A  day's  march  nearer  home," 

are  we  afraid  ?  Why  should  we  be  ?  Who 
provided  for  us,  before  we  entered  this  state 
of  probation  ?  Whose  eye  "  saw  our  substance 
yet  being  imperfect  1 "  Who  took  care  of  us 
when  we  knew  Him  not  ?  Will  He  forget 
us  now  that  we  are  His  servants  ? 

To  loosen  the  bonds  of  affection,  and  depart 
from  those  who  are  most  dear,  needs  the  ex 
ercise  of  a  strong,  implicit  faith.  If  there  are 
any  in  that  circle,  whose  helplessness  or 
absorbing  love  render  them  apparently  de 
pendent  on  us  for  protection  or  happiness,  let 
us  endeavor  serenely  to  leave  them  on  the 
Everlasting  Arm. 


234  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

A  statesman,  during  a  disastrous  period  in 
the  civil  wars  of  England^  being  appointed  to 
a  foreign  embassy,  was  listening  to  the  violent 
tumult  of  a  stormy  sea,  the  night  before  his 
embarkation,  and  reflecting  on  the  perilous 
condition  of  his  native  land,  until  his  troub 
led  mind  forbade  sleep.  A  confidential 
servant  who  accompanied  him,  perceiving  his 
distress,  said, 

"  Sir,  do  you  not  think  that  God  governed 
the  world  well,  before  you  came  into  it  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  Sir,  do  you  not  think  He  will  govern  it  as 
well,  when  you  are  gone  out  of  it  ? " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Sir,  pray  excuse  me,  but  do  you  not  think 
that  you  may  trust  Him  to  govern  it  quite  as 
well,  while  you  do  live  ? " 

The  reproof  overcame  his  perturbation,  who 
was  about  to  undertake  a  tempestuous  voy 
age,  burdened  with  heavy  cares.  Its  spirit 
might  instruct  us.  For  those,  whom  we  con 
template  leaving  with  such  anxiety,  we  might 


A     NEW     EXISTENCE.  235 

be  powerless  to  protect  if  we  remained  be 
hind.  The  calamities  of  life  would  overtake 
them.  Sickness  would  smite  them,  and 
sorrow  find  a  passage  to  their  hearts,  and  we 
could  not  shield  them.  We  could  not  "  de 
liver  our  darling  from  the  lion."  We  would, 
therefore,  confidently  trust  them  and  ourselves 
to  an  Almighty  Hand,  and  filled  with  holy 
faith,  respond  to  the  words  of  a  powerful 
writer,  "  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  death 
but  to  defy  it,  to  lift  up  our  heads,  and  look 
above  it.  He  is  but  the  mere  loosener  of  the 
cords  that  moor  us  to  the  shores  of  time,  the 
dissolver  of  the  cement  that  attaches  to  the 
things  that  perish  in  the  using.  What  we 
have  to  do  with  it,  is  to  despise  it ;  not  to  pre 
pare  to  meet  it,  but  to  prepare  to  meet  our 
God." 

Nature  might  herself  instruct  us,  by  the 
calm  aspect  with  which  she  meets  her  own 
changes. 


PAST     MERIDIAN. 

"  How  quiet  shows  the  woodland  scene ! 

Each  flower  and  tree,  its  duty  done, 
Reposing  in  decay  serene, 

Like  holy  men  when  age  is  won, 
Such  calm  old  age,  as  conscience  pure 
And  self-commanding  hearts  ensure, 
Waiting  the  summons  of  the  sky, 
Content  to  live  and  not  afraid  to  die." 

Content,  and  not  afraid.  That  is  a  blessed 
Christian  motto.  Yet  we  would  add  still 
more.  Should  we  not  be  happy  to  pass  into 
whatever  state  of  existence  God  shall  desig 
nate  ?  Look  at  the  bird.  It  hath  gathered 
neither  into  store-house  or  barn.  Its  food 
hath  been  from  the  garner  of  the  broad, 
green  earth,  and  its  life  a  music-strain.  The 
blasts  of  autumn  come.  Its  empty  nest  trem 
bles  amid  the  leafless  boughs.  It  must  speed 
its  way  to  another  clime. 

Does  it  linger  ?  Does  it  doubt  ?  Nay,  it 
spreads  an  unreluctant  wing  into  the  trackless 
ether. 

So  go  thou  forth,  O  Soul !      It  is  God's 


A    NEW     EXISTENCE.  237 

universe.     Thou  canst  not  pass  beyond  His 
jurisdiction.     His  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee. 

Living,  or  dying,  we  would  obey  the  elo 
quent  injunction  of  the  prophet,  to  "seek 
Him  who  maketh  the  seven  stars  and  Orion, 
and  turneth  the  shadow  of  death  into  the 
morning."  Let  us  bring  our  will  into  con 
formity  with  His  will,  and  catch  the  spirit 
of  the  dying  prayer  of  Bishop  Jewel, 

"  Lord,  now  let  thy  servant  depart  in  peace. 
Lord,  suffer  thy  servant  to  come  unto  Thee. 
Lord  receive  my  spirit. 

<(  I  have  not  so  lived,  as  to  be  ashamed  of 
having  lived ;  neither  do  I  fear  death,  for  God 
is  merciful.  Father,  Thy  will  be  done.  Thy 
will,  I  say,  and  not  mine. 

"  Lo,  this  is  my  day.  To-day  shall  I  quickly 
come  unto  Thee.  This  day  shall  I  see  my 
Lord  Jesus — Thou,  O  Lord,  who  hast  been 
my  only  hope." 

But  in  what  attitude  shall  we  stand,  and 
how   shall  we  occupy  ourselves,  when  the 
21 


238  PAST     MERIDIAN. 

time  and  strength  for  active  service  have  past 
away  ?  The  answer  is,  Wait. 

The  waiting  graces  are  beautiful.  They 
imply  readiness.  We  can  not  quietly  await 
any  great  event  for  which  we  are  unprepared. 
Let  us  have  oil  in  our  Jamps,  and  cherish 
every  gentle  and  holy  affection. 

Wait!  It  is  an  honorable  service.  An  an 
cient  warrior  put  on  his  armour  and  braced 
himself  upright  when  the  footstep  of  death 
stole  upon  him.  "I  have  never  turned  my 
back  on  any  foe,  while  I  lived,"  said  he, 
"and  I  will  look  the  last  one  in  the  face." 

Wait  bravely,  therefore,  in  Christian  ar 
mour,  the  opening  of  that  gate  which  leads 
to  a  higher  existence.  Wait,  with  a  smile, 
the  ministry  of  the  last  messenger.  Ask  not 
when  he  cometh,  or  where  or  in  what  man 
ner.  Stipulate  nothing.  Poor  pensioner  on 
God's  free  mercy,  question  not,  distrust  not. 
His  time  is  the  best  time. 

When  it  shall  come  may  we  have  grace  to 
let  the  frail  tent  of  this  body  calmly  fall,  and 


A     NEW    EXISTENCE.  239 

putting  our  hand  into  the  pierced  hand  of  a 
Redeemer,  with  a  song  of  praise  go  forth  to 
"  the  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in 
the  heavens."  • 


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